Friday Frank: The Returning! Budapest; (Televised); 1991

While browsing through YouTube, looking for an interesting Frank Zappa clip to post after too many weeks of abstinence, I stumbled upon this thrilling piece, which I'd never seen before and which apparently aired on Hungarian television back in 1991. In it, a graying and clearly-unwell Zappa plays some heartbreakingly beautiful guitar--I don't recognize the composition, and I'm afraid I don't speak or read Hungarian, either; can any readers identify this piece for me? Anyway, interspersed with the music is footage of Zappa speaking with an unidentified (but English-speaking) man in what I will describe as a fascinating, classic Zappa interview brimming with timeless political observations. Below, I've transcribed the money quotes for you (emphasis mine):

FZ: "I am in the process of doing what we call a feasibility study to see if it's possible for me to run for President in the United States against George Bush*."

Interviewer: That's quite a comment--do you feel there's a chance?

FZ: "Umm, yes. Not a good one--because, you know, he has more balloons than I do. [laughs] But I certainly don't agree with his policies, and I think that the Democrats have nothing to offer. And my idea is, if I do decide to run, to run as an anti-partisan candidate. Because I believe both the political parties in the United States have let the public down, and they generate more rhetoric than results. And it's not often that a voter in the United States gets a clear-cut choice between two candidates, because they tend to resemble each other physically, rhetorically, aesthetically--every other way; it's a choice between Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. And, er, if the feasibility study works out right, I would at least be able to say, If you get tired of those other two guys, you know, take a look at me."

Interviewer: Makes a lot of sense...the next time I interview you, I may be calling you Mr. President instead of Mr. Zappa?

FZ: [Shrugs and smiles] "Maybe..."

Frank Zappa died of prostate cancer in December, 1993. Given that his interest in--and involvement with--American politics was intensifying with every passing year, and knowing that he was both a fierce defender of the First Amendment and an active supporter of voting and participatory democracy, I don't doubt that, had he beaten the cancer, Zappa would have run for office at some point. And I've often wondered what he'd have to say about the nation electing the son of his then-nemesis, George Bush Sr.

Just as I've often wondered what he'd have to say about the condition of the country, the economy, and the Bill of Rights after the eight years during which Bush II lead us perilously close to becoming the "fascist theocracy" Zappa envisioned--and warned us about--during the Reagan years.

And, of course, I continue to muse about what Zappa would have to say about our new president, the unusually-named black son of a single mother. Our new president--he of the non-partisan approach to politics; he, an autodidact from a truly non-elite background. Our new president, who characterizes the philosophies of self-reliance and fiscal responsibility as being complementary to a belief in the power of union and the citizen's duty to community and nation. As did the great conservative president Abraham Lincoln; as did Zappa himself.

Our new president, a man who could hardly be described as resembling--physically, rhetorically, or aesthetically--any U.S. president elected heretofore.

* Zappa is referring to then-president George H. W. Bush, father of George W. Bush.

On Breakfast Champions and Paper Tigers

So this week, cereal giant Kellogg's pulled its endorsement of the greatest, most decorated Olympic swimmer of all time--the amazing fourteen-gold-medals-winning Michael Phelps--because he smoked pot.

Consider this: the cult film Reefer Madness was made--by a church group!--some seventy-three years ago. And so howlingly obvious was the silliness of the film's premise, even then, an exploitation film company saw fit to buy it and sensationalize it further so as to reap maximum profits during a slow economy (hmmm...). Later in the century, the film gained cult status as a comedy of sorts, as it was jam-packed with set bloopers and ridiculous, over-the-top statements ("Women cry for it; Men die for it!"). In 1973, budding rightwing strategerist and future David Gregory dance partner Karl Rove suggested screening Reefer Madness at Young Republicans' fundraisers as a way to attract the kewl kollege kids to what one can only imagine were, er, thrilling, must-attend social events. True story.

It's the year 2009, everyone. I cannot believe we're still debating this. Adults, personal time, private bodies, waste of money and law enforcement personnel, fiscal priorities, and so on and so forth. Then there is the not-insignificant issue of prison overcrowding due to mandatory minimums. Oh, and the fact that, unlike the foamy beers that bring you the Superbowl, the sparkly vodka martinis leaping from the pages of your favorite magazines, and all manner of rainbow-colored prescription pills--Tell your doctor!--the makers of which underwrite your daily televised serving of (bad) economic news, the Evil Weed has not, to date, caused a single overdose death.

Radley Balko of The Agitator wishes Michael Phelps would write this letter. So do I. An excerpt:

Here’s a crazy thought: If I can smoke a little dope and go on to win 14 Olympic gold medals, maybe pot smokers aren’t doomed to lives of couch surfing and video games, as our moronic government would have us believe. In fact, the list of successful pot smokers includes not just world class athletes like me, Howard, Williams, and others, it includes Nobel Prize winners, Pulitzer Prize winners, the last three U.S. presidents, several Supreme Court justices, and luminaries and success stories from all sectors of business and the arts, sciences, and humanities.

So go ahead. Ban me from the next Olympics. Yank my endorsement deals. Stick your collective noses in the air and get all indignant on me. While you’re at it, keep arresting cancer and AIDS patients who dare to smoke the stuff because it deadens their pain, or enables them to eat. Keep sending in goon squads to kick down doors and shoot little old ladies, maim innocent toddlers, handcuff elderly post-polio patients to their beds at gunpoint, and slaughter the family pet.

Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll apologize for smoking pot when every politician who ever did drugs and then voted to uphold or strengthen the drug laws marches his ass off to the nearest federal prison to serve out the sentence he wants to impose on everyone else for committing the same crimes he committed. I’ll apologize when the sons, daughters, and nephews of powerful politicians who get caught possessing or dealing drugs in the frat house or prep school get the same treatment as the no-name, probably black kid caught on the corner or the front stoop doing the same thing.

Hear, hear.

If you're so inclined, please write a note to Kellogg's chief marketing officer, Mark Baynes, and let him know--politely, of course--how you feel about his company siding with the nonsensical so-called "War on Drugs" and against the brilliant, young, multiple, multiple (etc.) gold-medal-winning Phelps.

mark.baynes@kellogg.com

Kellogg Company
1 Kellogg Sq
Battle Creek, MI 49016-3599

(SNL clip via Sully; H/T Michael Hussey)

"The Electronic Newspaper Isn't As Spiffy-looking as the Ads Imply..."

Well, readers, I'm finally back among the living after two weeks during which every family member--male, female, upright-walking, and four-legged and fur-covered alike--fell victim to the dreadful Oh-Nine variant of the 'flu. We've been going through decongestants and aspirins like water, and buying (and using up) coffee-table-sized multi-packs of Kleenex boxes from Costco. Meanwhile, grubby jeans and school uniforms would appear to have been breeding in the dark corners of the laundry room--not exactly the cheerful get-well present I was hoping for, but hey, I'm just grateful to be breathing freely and speaking in my normal baritone, as opposed to the unintelligible frog-croaking I was doing for a while there. Poor Marley, he seemed so insulted and pissed-off at the notion of microbes invading his sovereign feline self: he'd burst into a fit of little kitty-sneezes, then shoot me this withering look, as if I had something to do with it (I didn't; it came home with one of the Offspring and spread outward and downward from there. But try telling that to a cat.)

Anyway, let's kick off my return to civilization with this little blast from the past--1981, to be specific; it comes via Wayne Garcia, my new boss at Creative Loafing, where I'll be posting my work from time to time, starting this week. (For non-Floridians, CL is an alternative weekly newspaper somewhat akin to the Village Voice. Only it's not, obviously, of that particular Village, not unless you consider the Tampa area to be an extension of New York, which is probably kind of stretching things a bit. We did come close to being, ah, cursed blessed with our very own Trump Tower at one point, though. And you can get some pretty superb pizza here, if you know the right Italians, ahem.)

First, the electronic newspaper; then, what next--a telephone with pictures? Anything seemed possible...

Dr. King's Dream is Rising

photo via Doug Mills, NYT

Come on up for the rising,
Come on up, lay your hands in mine;
Come on up for the rising,
Come on up for the rising tonight!

If you're like me, your eyes are still a bit swollen this morning after weeping with joy during the Obama Inaugural event at the Lincoln Memorial. I also watched the replay on HBO last night, exchanging emails with Lisa Simeone, who'd live-reported the event on NPR radio earlier and was now watching it at home, this time setting aside her no-tears-on-the-air professionalism and reveling in the pleasure of it, just like the rest of us. As one stunning performance followed another, I noted that this was so intense an emotion for me, I could barely find words to describe it. "My heart is exploding and bits of stardust are all over the floor," I wrote.

In one sense, I am deeply envious of my friend T, whose children go to school with mine and whose sister is a brilliant actor and very special liberal activist; accordingly, he and his lucky, lucky family are part of the exciting festivities going on in Washington right now; more saliently, they're in the middle of history as it unfolds. (Say hello to Michelle for me, T!)

In another sense, though, as I bask in our relatively tropical Florida warmth (eek, sorry, snowbound readers), I am not at all jealous of those oceans of excited, bundled-up people who were surely chilled to the bone, from the crowds who stood on the ground to the celebrities who sang onstage. I could tell that the performers, in particular, were really feeling the cold, even with layers of gorgeous scarves and coats swaddling them: if you looked at their lips, you could see that some of them were struggling mightily to keep their mouths flexible in that freezing air so they could form the words. (When I was in high school, my singing group traveled to Europe and performed outdoors in Germany; all I can say is, singing in the falling snow is beyond challenging, not to mention terrible for one's vocal cords.)

Poor Bruce Springsteen displayed, at times, the body language of someone who was looking forward to curling up in front of a warm fire after the concert. And speaking of fire, wasn't that a soul-stirring, body-invigorating rendition of The Rising? Springsteen originally wrote this to honor all the firefighters, many of whom died, for their indescribable bravery at the World Trade Center disaster on that dark and heartbreaking day. With an animated, red-robed gospel choir joining in, its 2009 incarnation was, quite literally, a moving and joyful call to service.

And I was touched and amused by the innocent excitement of Malia Obama, who repeatedly pulled out her little digital camera and snapped photos of all those famous people singing and dancing--and remembering history--just a few feet away. Um, Malia, you're the First Firstborn, darling; those celebrities are all going to want photos of you.

Despite my physical distance from it, I felt tightly bound to the history, pride, and ever-renewed American spirit underpinning the stage at the Lincoln Memorial, and I was electrified and inspired by the unprecedented length and breadth and depth of the creative talent assembled thereupon.

So, what was your favorite part?

Would That Things Were Only This Bad...

Reality is much worse than the future that SNL's writers imagined--save the Great Lakes problem--but Will Farrell's delicious, razor-sharp Dubya impersonation made me laugh out loud just the same. As Sully says, "It could stand for his farewell address as well."

School's...in...for...winter--that ecstatic tapping sound you hear is me doing a little Irish jig around my desk--and I'm back in the saddle again, to juxtapose a little Alice Cooper and Aerosmith on a cold Sunday morning (hey, why not?) Accordingly, there will be posting a-plenty going forward. Because if the tall, calm, grownup Senator President (yeah!) with the beautiful speeches and magnificent mind can't inspire this writer, I might as well hang up the Powerbook and go for an ostrich ride.

Happy Inauguration Weekend, everyone!

(H/T oddjob)

A Fundamental Clash--Not of Religions or Civilizations, but of Eras

This is Syrian-born American psychiatrist Dr. Wafa Sultan, speaking on Al-Jazeera television (English subtitles by Memritv) with Ibrahim Al-Khouli and host Faisal al-Qassem. Dr. Sultan discusses the ongoing battle between the barbarism inherent in the medieval mentality of fundamentalism and the hope and progress--both in scientific and social terms--that modern, tolerant thinking has offered, and continues to offer, humankind.

My thoughts about Dr. Sultan's words are best summed up by fellow Cogblogger Stephen, whose opinions on matters theological and historical I've long respected and to whom I sent this video earlier today. He notes:

"I could say, and have said, many of the same things about Christians that she says about Muslims. In fact, several centuries ago it was the Muslim world that practiced tolerance of other religions and saw great scientific gains; current math, physics, astronomy and medicine are all built upon what they started. The West's philosophical foundation upon Aristotelianism wouldn't have been possible without Muslims holding onto Aristotle's teachings while the Christian idiots were busily destroying anything they felt offended their Christian sensibilities. I guess the main takeaway for me is further confirmation of how similar fundamentalists from all systems of thought are to each other."

Yes.

(H/T Roberto, via Yariv)

Weekend at Bernie's

Work-weeks for the self-employed routinely stretch into seventy and even eighty-hour marathons, as Robert's continue to do these days; accordingly, he tries to ingest a decent amount of protein and vegetables, even at lunchtime, and had just bitten into his grilled chicken breast sandwich with pesto--he's the chef in these parts, not I--when news of Bernie Madoff's latest bit of sociopathic effrontery hit the airwaves.

Robert didn't choke, but I nearly did, and I wasn't even eating. And there they were, the braced-and-bespectacled CNBC crew, nattering away and wondering out loud how someone could possibly be so arrogant and unaware.

"Why are these Wall Street groupies even trying to make sense of this criminal?" I asked, resisting the strong urge to teevee-scream Take the beam out of your own motherfucking eyes first, O Masters of The Universe!

No More Teevee-screaming is my New Year's resolution. Swear.

Instead, I grumbled. "Arrogant? Aware? He's a bloody sociopath--he has no conscience."

"Maybe they feel they have to say something in order to sound smart?" Dear Husband offered.

Hey, it's bad enough that after being caught defrauding all those people, companies, and charities to the tune of many billions, Madoff packed up a million dollars or so worth of watches and jewelry and smuggled them off to the kids, claiming the items have "sentimental value". (It should be easy enough for prosecutors to debunk that one: sociopaths don't have sentiments, you see.) Now we learn he was planning to spirit away some $173 million dollars, too, confirmed by a load of signed checks investigators found during a search of his desk. And this despite being ordered to not dispose of any assets whatsoever, since said assets will, eventually, be used to partially (!) repay at least some investors.

Suffice it to say, I don't think slapping a bit of ankle jewelry on Madoff and sending him upstairs to his Manhattan penthouse is anything close to the sort of lifestyle change he really deserves to undergo right about now.

So, I propose this: until his trial date, let Madoff live off the street--for real. Strip the man down to his Sulka briefs, give him some beaten-up sneakers and an old sweatsuit from the Salvation Army--hell, the pants don't even have to match the hoodie--and point him toward the nearest Dumpster full of cardboard boxes. We got yer penthouse right here, Mister!

Meanwhile...

It's Weekend at Bernie's! All weekend, every weekend. And weekdays too--why not? Open the ultra-luxurious Madoff house to families who've been thrown out onto the streets when their banks foreclosed on their properties. One family per long weekend, I say, and give them access to the Madoff SubZero(s) and the Madoff wine cellar. Let the kids get warm--finally!--in his 1,000-thread-count Pratesi sheets and cashmere blankets and remind the parents to grab a vicuña coat or two when they head out the door and hand the keys to the next homeless family.

As for Madoff being out and about, ah, flight risk, schmight risk. I don't think he'll get too far.

FridayTuesday Frank: Sinister Footwear (Second Movement); NYC, 1981

Inaugural planners take note: setting aside Sinister Footwear's overall musical wonderfulness (and it's not often you'll hear me say that), its title alone makes this Zappa piece the perfect music with which to bid farewell to the Inartful Dodger of Crawford Dallas.

Happy New Year, all!

I Modestly Propose That You Read This

The fabulous Jon Swift has compiled his annual Best Blog Posts of 2008, which is a holiday cornucopia of wit, wailing, and wisdom submitted by the bloggers themselves. Dear Readers, there is so much good stuff there, you might as well set aside some time, make yourself an extra-large coffee with lots of cream and sugar (you're giving all that up tomorrow, right?) and settle in with a cuddly kitteh or two.

(Speaking of cuddly kittehs, Jon has scattered various spot-on lolcats throughout the long, long post. I'd better hurry up and finish this post--if Son Three sees this, he's going to want to sit on my lap and spend the next hour scrolling through I Can Has Cheezburger, and there goes the morning.)

For my part, I submitted a short (one sentence!) post, entitled To Those Who Muse About "Spreading Democracy" on This Day of Fidel Castro's Retirement that I wrote for litbrit back in February (it includes a Pablo Neruda poem). Unbeknown to me at the time, Mr. Swift had linked to that very post in a piece that he wrote, shortly thereafter, about the ridiculous embargo on Cuba. Weird, but unsurprising, given how many similar "weird" things happen when like minds join forces in the ether and...oh, hell, I can't do self-promotion without sounding like a complete New Age ass, so just go and peruse Swift's Hall of Awesomeness, okay?

(P.S. Thank you for taking on this enormous task, Jon; cheers and kisses to you, as always, for promoting us little guys.)

And Sir C, I swiped this one for you, though I'm sincerely hoping it's not one of your '09 resolutions :

Catblogging: Here Comes Marley Claws

They dressed me up like this. And this isn't my coat--it's a false one.

We all love a figgy pudding--or at least, a pudding-shaped cat--so bring us one now.

Merry, merry everyone!

XXX
Deborah

The Rational Actor's Libertarian Fête

[In light of recent disasters stemming from under-regulation and deregulation of various market sectors--the obvious Big Disaster as well as things like Spontaneous Combustion Snow Globes and Renal Failure Seafood--I thought it would be appropriate to re-post this poem I wrote for Ezra's blog and mine last Christmas. Commenter Andrew, responding to a contentious free-market cultist, said it well:

"Pity the poor libertarian. C. Ronnie Capitalist wears his clothes during the day. When the kitchen lights are out, the lobbying and no-bid contracts make scurrying little noises. You can hear them if you listen. Those aren't libertarians."]

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached.
-- from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

The Rational Actor's Libertarian Fête

Come now, the ever-bitterer winter wind
Reminding one and all what season nears,
And with it come the needs and wants of friends;
The plight--the suffering!--told of distant spheres.
Ah, what is there to do but shake one's head
And wonder at the choices people make?
They knew what they were doing. He made his bed.
Some people want to live life on the take.
I suffered; there were sacrifices made.
The roads I chose have led me to this place,
And all my efforts now will be repaid;
My just deserts spread forth before my face.
Let this be, then, the year we celebrate
At the Rational Actor's Libertarian Fête!

Come in, have drinks; we've everything to please--
Our own self-interest, you'll be glad to know,
Means cocktails that are light on antifreeze
And bread with just the faintest melamine glow.
We're reasonably sure the Champagne flute
Won't leach a cloud of lead into each bubble--
Or Christmas-colored plastic cups might suit?
No need to thank the Chinese for their trouble.
It's quite a spread, when all is said and done:
There's corn--and beans--with tortured DNA;
The Monkfish, I am told, will surely stun;
There's penicillin in the shrimp souffle.
It's doubtful that the roasted pig will kill you;
Though, even then, the hospital will bill you.

Come now, the ever-bitterer winter wind,
Reminding one and all that all are one;
And so the needs and wants of nearby friends,
And suffering humans under a distant sun,
Become our needs and wants--it's all-impacting.
Each dollar saved becomes a lead-laced train
That sickens those too young for Rational Acting.
Each weakened law begets a poisoned grain.
And so the guests of honor at their Fête
May find their appetites are somewhat numb;
They'll hope the howling coming from the gate
Is not The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come,
His corrupted chains of debt stretched through the air,
Borne by toxic winds of laissez-faire.

D.N.T. 11/25/07

Friday Frank: A Zappadan Catch-up Post

Wow, what a week. Okay, make that month. Methinks it's high time I posted some fabulous Frank to cap off Zappadan and kick off the pre-Christmas weekend. [ I should point out that as with much of FZ's music, the lyrics might not be especially, er, work-safe--unless, of course, your co-workers and boss are Zappaphiles too.]

Let's travel back in time, then, to 1968, and visit the Royal Festival Hall, where Frank Zappa, the Mothers, and various orchestra members are performing a neoclassical piece entitled This Town is a Sealed Tuna Sandwich, which would later be featured in the film 200 Motels.



Guitar-heads will enjoy the solo in this one, Outside Now, performed in Paris in 1980:



And finally, here's our hero playing Florentine Pogen in L.A. back in 1974:



Bon Weekend, Happy Festivus, and Merry Zappadan everyone!

Minstrel Boy on Jeopardy Today!

Set your Tivo's and DVR's, since Minstrel Boy of Group News Blog and Harp and Sword is appearing on Jeopardy today (check your local listings).

"I'll take brilliant, irreverent, truffle-making, multiple-language-speaking, massive-amounts-of-history-knowing, more-instruments-than-I've-had-hot-dinners-playing, Vietnam Veteran Irish-Apache Gentlemen and Scholars for a thousand, Alex...".

Go MB!

FridaySaturday Frank: Watermelon in Easter Hay; Barcelona, 1988

I remember reading somewhere that this was one of FZ's favorite pieces (or was it Peaches en Regalia? Hmmm...). Anyway, Watermelon is gorgeous, meditative music that's hard to categorize--so why bother? I'll simply think of it as more beauty and brilliance from an American genius.

Happy Zappadan, everyone!

Today in Very Timely Songs: David Bowie & Gail Ann Dorsey Perform Under Pressure

Two music gods on one stage. Enjoy.

"...It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out!'
Pray tomorrow takes me higher
People people on streets
Turned away from it all
Like a blind man
Sat on fence but it don't work
Keep coming up with love
But it's so slashed and torn
Why, why, why?
Love, love, love, love.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking
Can't we give ourselves one more chance?
Why can't we give love one more chance?
Why can't we give love, give love, give love,
Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love...

'Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care
For people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves under pressure..."

Marriage Equality Rocks!

Via TRex, with whom I was speaking this morning and to whom I said, You know, I love it that our side can fight all this ignorance and bigotry with creative brilliance and joy.

"It's the only way to win, baby," he replied.

(By the way, I'm totally adding Jack Black to my list of Super Best Friends.)

FridaySunday Frank: The Teheran Symphony Orchestra Rehearsing Dog Breath Variations + More Frank Love In Honor of Zappadan

Maestro Zappa's music may not yet be widely-known in these parts--certainly the vast majority of it never hit America's commercial airwaves, save a handful of humor songs--but in Europe, Scandinavia, South America, and even the Middle East, fans and musicians alike listen to, and are inspired by, Zappa's rock, blues, jazz, fusion, and neoclassical compositions.

Tribute bands abound in Finland and the Czech Republic, and some of the world's most talented musicians continue to study and perform challenging classical pieces like Dog Breath Variations (as above, in which video members of the Teheran Symphony Orchestra tackle the complex piece) and Outrage at Valdez.

I'll be posting a goodly amount of Frank Zappa material this month, in honor of Zappadan--December 4-21--when "all our blogs belong to Zappa". (As if I needed an excuse!) Info here:



Finally, here's a double dose (so to speak) of FZ wit: Joe's Garage followed by Why Does it Hurt When I Pee?



Happy Sunday, all.

Simplisitc Drug Testing Kits Yield False Results and Wrongful Arrests

Quod me nutrit me destruit*, indeed.

So, what's in your wallet (or handbag or toiletry kit)? If you're traveling out of the country any time soon--hell, if you're simply driving around in this one--you'd be wise to rid your bags and carryalls of any organic chocolate bars, natural soaps, and health-food-store deodorants. Read this, be horrified, and for goodness' sake, be careful:

For Nadine Artemis and Ron Obadia, August began with plans for a family vacation in Minnesota. The vacation ended with the two Canadian citizens being led through Toronto's airport in handcuffs, locked up and separated from their baby.

"We were dumbfounded," Artemis says. Police told them they could be facing years in prison for exporting narcotics, because 2.5 pounds of material found in their carry-on bag tested positive for hashish. "All we knew was that we didn't have drugs."

They were telling the truth. They didn't have drugs. They had chocolate.

The couple were caught up in what civil libertarians, public defenders and some narcotics experts say is a growing problem: the use of unreliable field drug-test kits as the basis to arrest innocent people on illegal drug charges.

The inexpensive test kits are used by virtually every police department in the country and by federal agents, including Customs officers at the nation's borders. The kits test suspicious materials, and a positive result generally leads to an arrest and court date, pending more sophisticated tests done after the sample is sent to a lab.

The kits use powerful acids that react with the substance in a plastic pouch. If the liquid turns a certain color, it is a considered a positive result. But a number of legal products and plants test positive: chocolate for hashish; rosemary for marijuana; and natural soaps for the "date-rape drug" GHB.

"The tests have no validity," says former FBI narcotics investigator Frederick Whitehurst. And as more organic products come on the market, "the potential for civil rights violations when these presumptive tests are out there is phenomenal."

Although police have been using the field test kits for decades, "there's no regulation, no oversight that these drug tests perform in any way," says Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps President David Bronner, whose products have tested positive for GHB.

With the growth of organic and natural foods and products, experts say arrests may increase.

"We are alarmed by the growing number of people who have been taken to jail for simply possessing organic products," says Ronnie Cummins, director of the Organic Consumers Association.

On Aug. 29, Artemis and Obadia, founders of Living Libations, a company that makes organic and natural food and beauty products in Haliburton, Ontario, were cleared of the charges when lab tests showed they were simply transporting chocolate. [...]

So far, the couple's legal bills have topped $20,000, covered in part by Bronner's company.

As you can see, I'm not joking about the need to be careful. As someone who routinely carries (at least) a bar or two of organic dark chocolate in her handbag--more if I'm flying, in case I need to share it with cranky people during inevitable delayed-on-the-runway scenarios--and furthermore, who has Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap in her shower and her travel toiletry kit, let me tell you, this story sent chills down my spine.

No, we shouldn't have to modify our own normal and perfectly legal behavior in order to avoid being falsely accused and expensively imprisoned--this is America, yes? The fault for these outrageous miscarriages of justice lies clearly in the laps of the test-kits' manufacturer(s), as well as those law enforcement and customs personnel who awarded them the lucrative government contracts to make the kits. Kits that don't test for a specific substance, by the way, but rather, just identify a general classification to which a substance belongs.

Poppy-seeds fallen from your morning bagel, or evidence of something more sinister? The test kit will err on the side of un-Constitutional.

On the other hand, I'm certainly not willing to risk being thrown in jail and separated from my sons--and then forced to spend a fortune on legal help to prove my innocence--simply because I love chocolate (which I do, very much) or because I like the wake-me-up scent of mint in my bath products.

Allen Miller of Forensic Source, which makes kits, says they find "families of chemical compounds" and are not meant to be definitive. Any arrest should be the result of good investigative police work, Miller says.

But Adam Wolf of the ACLU says "police officers and drug-test companies should not subject our constitutional rights to a game of chance."

*What nourishes me kills me.

If We Took All the Bones Out, It Wouldn't Be Crunchy!

Ah, the Whizzo Chocolate Assortment sketch--one of my favorite food-related Python bits. I almost posted the vomiting-and-exploding gourmand scene from The Meaning of Life, but thought better of it when Sons Two and Three ran from the room shrieking Ewwwwwww. Hey, we're a pretty tough-tummied crowd around here, but even so, that sketch hit a little too close to home, shall we say, on a feasting day like today. And I wouldn't want to be responsible for dampening anyone's appetite.

Crunchy frog it is, then.

And as for me, I'm thankful for the mushroom shepherd's pie--with no lark's vomit and no anthrax--that I'll be making this afternoon; for the crisp, holiday-appropriate temperatures despite the brilliant sun pouring down on the garden where the boys are shooting hoops right now; and for family and friends far and near, there and here. I hope you all enjoy a peaceful, warm, and delicious day, too.

Happy Thanksgiving from my family to you and yours,

Deborah

Cruelty and Liberal-bashing, Each and Every Day of the Year!

Oh dear. Thirtysomething pom-pom girl and granite-countertop-detector Michelle Malkin, along with several other *OXYMORON ALERT* beautiful conservative women (I left out the word narcissistic so as to avoid piling a redundancy on top of the oxymoron) have troweled on a few pounds of pancake and lipstick and draped themselves in tens of thousands of dollars worth of dead rodent mustelid skins in order to pose for a calendar called Pretty in Mink.

Of course, the majority of Madame's commenters are taking this as their cue to spout off (so to speak) about the unparalleled hotness of the Mses. Malkin, Coulter, and Carpenter etc., and--amusingly--to drone on and on about how "horribly ugly", "unfeminine", and "hairy" we liberal women are.

At the risk of stating the obvious, methinks these basement-dwellers really need to get out more.

Sigh. This sort of stuff almost makes me want to put together a calendar of our own, considering how many beautiful liberal women I know personally, as well as how many famous beautiful liberal women there are out there--I mean, Scarlett, Angelina, etc. etc....whom are these people kidding? (Yeah, I know.)

Being a lefty, though, I can't help but remind myself that so doing would be terribly unfair. Because even without the assistance of a Vaselined lens and heavy-duty beauty lighting, women--and for that matter, men--who care about things like housing the homeless, feeding the hungry, promoting social justice, protecting the environment, ensuring equal rights and freedoms for all--for starters--are possessed of a certain incandescent beauty *SENTIMENTALITY ALERT* that shines from within. This is something that can't be artificially recreated in an individual whose identity is so deeply invested in things like championing pre-emptive war; fanning the flames of (and forever reigniting) anti-immigration sentiment; approving of and even joking about government-sanctioned torture; ignoring (tacitly approving?) the erosion of the middle class via Bushian deregulation, disproportionate taxation, and state-approved polarization of wealth; and calling for the curtailment of rights of whichever class of people he or she deems unworthy of said rights--up to and including the internment of innocent American citizens not charged with any crime.

Ugly is as ugly does. And insofar as I'm aware, no-one has invented a lens, filter, or Photoshop trick that works on the soul.

FridaySaturday Frank: Penguin in Bondage; Italian TV, 1972

As I've said before, I think this particular FZ lineup is my all-time-favorite, mainly due to my fondness for Ponty's violin riffs.

Yikes, what a week. First, I was treated to a cable news loop of the governor of Alaska "pardoning" a turkey and then holding soundbite court in front of an active turkey guillotine manned by a rubber-gloved executioner, the whole scene made surreal and cringe-inducingly funny by what are surely the best breaking news subtitles ever; mad props to whichever dry-witted, animal-loving MSNBC geek(s) put those together.

Next, to my (guilty) dismay, I learned the boys are going to be In The House--while Mama goes Out The Mind--for the next ten days. Hey, whatever happened to the old four-day Thanksgiving thing? When I was your age...

And then, it got really, really cold in Florida. No seriously--low-forties-Fahrenheit-cold. And while I'd normally be all excited about the rare opportunity to dive into the vintage sweater stockpile that's been thirty years in the making--and maybe even debuting the awesome boots I bought two years ago while having one of my fits of tropics-denying (note to self: talk R into taking me out tonight, preferably someplace where said boots will be appreciated)--this year, I'm feeling the chill as never before. Especially in my poor hands and feet. Brrr.

AND as long as I'm whining: here we are in 2008, with change heading to Washington and stores putting tracking devices on my chocolate bars, and still (still!) no winter-wear company is making modern-cut long underwear for low-slung jeans--no, all you can find, online and off, is pair after billowing pair of elasticated, high-waisted "Mom jeans"-style long johns (When you've given up giving it up...Mom Jeans!) in which--and honestly, I cannot repeat this often enough--I would not be caught dead. Hey, clothing makers: there's a huge number of blue-toed, shivering and skinny post-Boomer women out here having cold flashes as we hit our forties. Fancy making quick sales and long-term customers? Then design some low-waisted, close-fitting long johns that I can wear under jeans on days like today without looking like, well, like a penguin in bondage.

Off with me to the grocery store, then. I have a feeling they won't have run out of Tofurkey just yet; Thermacare handwarmers are another story.

Bon Weekend, everyone!

Dear President-Elect Obama: Please Support Organic Food and Farming

Joan Miró

The Vegetable Garden with Donkey

Members of the Organic Consumers Association are writing to President-Elect Barack Obama--go here to add your signature--and setting forth recommendations for policy and personal initiatives aimed at creating "a healthy, sustainable, just, and organic future" for America.

President-Elect Obama is in the process of formulating policy, assembling his transition team, and considering nominees for Secretary of Agriculture, among other important positions. The Secretary of Agriculture is responsible for directing the U.S. Department of Agriculture and its $90 billion annual budget, including the National Organic Program, food stamp and nutrition programs, and agriculture subsidies. Obama throughout his campaign, and since his election, has stressed that he wants to hear from the public in order to formulate his policies. Let’s all take him up on this invitation. [...]

[Excerpted from the letter:]

1. Plant a working “Organic Victory Garden” on the South Lawn of the White House, to symbolize your commitment to locally-based, solar-based organic agriculture, with surplus food going to local food shelves.

2. Hire a well-known organic chef, such as Nora Pouillon or Alice Waters, to prepare healthy organic meals for the White House and staff, including vegetables and herbs from the White House Organic Victory Garden.

3. Increase food stamp benefits so low-income Americans can afford high quality organic foods. One way to do this would be to double the value of food stamp debit cards for fresh food purchased from farmers markets.

4. Restore consumers’ right to know by publicly supporting mandatory labeling of Genetically Engineered foods, with regulations similar to those now in place in Europe, Japan, and other nations.

5. Expand incentives for small and mid-sized organic farms and for farmers and ranchers who wish to make the transition to organic. The organic sector currently represents at least three percent of our current food purchases, therefore it deserves at least three percent of USDA program funds and incentives.

6. Appoint Michael Pollan, or another well-known advocate for organic agriculture and the relocalization of our food and farming system, as the new Secretary of Agriculture.

7. Provide funds and incentives for urban food access programs that connect organic farms with urban retail stores, providing fresh produce and vegetables for America’s inner-cities.

8. [Redirect the existing multi-billion dollar crop subsidy system away from commodities and biofuels and instead towards energy-efficient, greenhouse gas sequestering organic crops, especially fruits and vegetables.]

9. Strictly regulate factory farms, Confined Animal Feeding Operations (CAFO), to sharply reduce or eliminate their damage to the environment and public health.

10. Fast-track the Employee Free Choice Act to assure that farm labor and other workers are guaranteed the right to form a union at their place of employment.

I can't add a thing--these are, quite simply, excellent recommendations. I'm sure you'll agree: sign here. (Thanks!)

Making Progress Making Things

Things won are done;
joy's soul lies in the doing.
--William Shakespeare

So how are we all this week, after having clung for dear life to nonexistent safety bars and taken a seemingly never-ending ride on the E-ticket Presidential Rollercoaster in the extravagantly overwrought amusement park that is American Politics? (Baby-boomer Brownie points to those who know what E-ticket means; more kudos still to those who also use the term brownie points--ha!)

I imagine that my own emotions today--a mere week since I sat in the local Obama office, biting my nails and making last-minute reminder calls--are not all that different from those of anyone else who worried, watched, and wept last Tuesday.

Joy.

Relief.

A tiny bit of disbelief, given all that we've witnessed in elections past (especially in Florida).

Intense pride, given all the racist blather I'd seen, heard, and read these past two years, that America had elected a brilliant man to its highest office, based on the content of his character instead of the color of his skin.

A need to e-mail or call every single person to whom I've ranted about W et. al. over the past eight years and say something articulate and deeply intellectual like Woo-hoo! AIEEEE! Can you believe it? Oh my God, can you believe it? YEAH! YES WE CAN!

And this: a profound sense of disconnectedness mixed with the certainty that I must now get down to the business of creating things. While reflecting on my obsessive politics-following habits, I realized how little else I've written about, how little else I've created. There is a rack of vintage dresses that need altering or re-working, but for years I've been less than inspired, shall we say. There is an entire novel outline sitting on my hard-drive; there are several new-but-unopened recipe books piled up in the kitchen; there are literally hundreds of note-cards--each of which is inscribed with an idea (and sometimes several ideas) for poems, stories, and designs--lying in and around my desk.

Good grief, I must get busy. Where the hell have I been? Okay, other than the laundry room, I mean. And the car. And the pediatrician's office. And the grocery store. And, of course, the computer and the MSNBC.

President-elect Obama says we must once again become a nation that makes things. And since I'm not an engineer, an architect, or an automobile designer, I'm going to interpret the word "make" as create, and the word "things" as meaning not only energy efficient cars and buildings, but also literature, art, and music.

So, then, inspiration trumps relief, burnout, exhaustion, disbelief, and even euphoria (hey, we all know euphoria is a temporary gig, right? How much could we ever get done if we humans were euphoric all day, every day? Think of all the dancing shoes we'd be wearing out, one pair after another...). I am inspired to get my metaphorical ass in gear. I will finally learn Dreamweaver; I will at last learn to use my new camera; I will begin to tackle some of my vintage projects (maybe I'll photograph them!) and most of all, I will write.

Anyway, before I frighten myself with all these plans, I'd like to share a couple of favorite election night images you may have missed. Ezra posted the first one just as the election was called for Barack Obama; the second comes from a terribly cute website, Cats for Obama (H/T Lisa at Cogitamus).



So, how about you? Now that you can breathe (somewhat) more easily, secure in the knowledge that a smart, competent grownup will soon be running things, what sort of creative work will you dive into with wild (or even mild) abandon?

Pride

I am off to help out at the nearby Obama office--working the phones or knocking on doors, or both--but I wanted to pop my head in the door to say how proud I am today.

Proud of all the wonderful people I've met--in grocery store lines, at parent events, and while out on the town--who get it. Proud of my fellow liberals; proud of the many conservatives I know who are putting country before party and voting for a Democrat for the first time. Proud of our extraordinary, brilliant, history-making candidate, Barack Obama. Proud of my American husband and my American children.

Proud of America.

I'll be back this evening with observations (and maybe even a few photos). Go and vote! And if you've already voted, volunteer as much as you're able--even if it's just giving a neighbor a ride to the polls.

Onward!

The Death (Metal) of Summer

Son One--age 16--has always liked a wide array of music genres (hmmm, I wonder why?), some of which I prefer him to keep between him and the iPod headset. Yes, I've become that mother. The laundry-doing one who, after folding the seventeenth black t-shirt sporting some variant of horned beast and a reference to the underworld in gothic font, wonders if she ought to hold a Bic lighter aloft: We salute you, oh Dark Lord.

So I was skeptical of Son One's Death Metal recommendation yesterday. That stuff is a bit, um, after my era. I don't always get it. It's...it's...too loud. Sometimes, okay? Sometimes.

This time, however, Son One appears to have broken through my biases.

I present to you Children of Bodom, also known as Alexi Laiho and Roope Latvala of Finland, playing the Summer movement from Vivaldi's Four Seasons on their guitars.

Be impressed and amazed. I was.

The Obama Menace!

Lee's latest. And it's awesome, as you'd expect--enjoy and share.

Happy Sunday (and Happy Almost-Hallowe'en, and last-week-of-the-Best-Election-Season-Evah, and pre-Día de los Muertos/All Saints Day, and Nearly Guy Fawkes Day) everyone.

Saturday Morning Awesome*

Via the supremely hip NB, friend and fellow ex-pat. NB's blog Life Elsewhere is a must-visit for music lovers, especially those who hail from the Seattle area, where NB's radio shows, back in the day, were the stuff of legend.

* Post title shamelessly borrowed from Bob Cesca.

Friday Frank: Easy Meat; Paris, 1980

Things I loved hearing on this gray October Friday:

- "Miss, can I please see your ID for that wine?"

- Hey Deb, Dave of Zencomix made a comic* for you.
Cheers, Michael Hussey

- "Mama, let me know when you post this week's Friday Frank...oh, and I found your keys."

Today's Friday Frank--a long one, with lots of signature changes and a gorgeous solo--is dedicated, then, to Dave, Son Two, and the lovely (if terribly myopic) checkout guy at Publix.

Bon Weekend, everyone.

XXX
D.

* I'll post the whole strip if and when Dave gives me permission.

Sarah's Hard Rock Candy

This song, by Peg Seeger (with a little help from her friends), is definitely what you'd call a ditty, and it's great, lighthearted fun--just what the doctor ordered at the end of a stressful week, I think.

(H/T to jacqueline, with thanks)

Keith Olbermann on (Un-)Real Americans

I missed this exceptional Special Comment last night, so I'm thrilled to find it in my In box today, courtesy of Truthout.

But first, a small Special Comment of my own:

Thank you, Mr. Olbermann, for once again bringing out your famous angry edge: when one is attacking the three-headed monster--say hello to racism, fearmongering, and new-millennium-McCarthyism!--that is the current incarnation of the McCain campaign, only the very sharpest weapons will suffice.

Cheers,
Deborah

Okay, here's the transcript:

KO: I have frequently insisted I would never turn the platform of the Special Comment into a regular feature. But as these last two weeks of this extraordinary, and extraordinarily disturbing, presidential campaign project out in front of us, I fear I may have to temporarily amend that presumption.

I hope it will be otherwise, but I suspect this will be the first of nightly pieces, most shorter than this until further notice. And thus a Special Comment tonight about the last five days of the divisive, ugly, paranoid bleatings of this Presidential race, culminating in the sliming of Colin Powell for his endorsement of Sen. Obama.

There was once a very prominent sportswriter named Dick Young whose work, with ever-increasing frequency, became peppered with references to "my America."

"I can't believe this is happening in My America;" "We do not tolerate these people in My America;" "This man does not belong in my America." His America gradually revealed itself.

Insular. Isolationist. Backwards-looking. Mindlessly flag-waving. Racist. No second chances. A million rules, but only for the other guy. Dick Young died in 1987, but he has been re-born in the presidential campaign as it has unfolded since last Thursday night.

In that time, Gov. Sarah Palin, Congresswoman Michelle Bachmann, McCain spokesperson Nancy Pfotenhauer, and Rush Limbaugh, have revealed that there is a measurable portion of this country that is not interested in that which the vast majority view as democracy or equality or opportunity. They want only control and they want the rest of us, symbolically, perhaps physically out.

Gov. Palin:

"We believe that the best of America is not all in Washington D.C.," you told a fund-raiser in North Carolina last Thursday, to kick off this orgy of condescending elitism.

"We believe that the best of America is in these small towns that we get to visit, and in these wonderful little pockets of what I call the real America, being here with all of you hard working very patriotic, very pro-America areas of this great nation."

Governor, your prejudice is overwhelming. It is not just "pockets" of this country that are "pro-America" Governor. America is "pro-America. "And the "Real America" of yours, Governor, is where people at your rallies shout threats of violence, against other Americans, and you say nothing about them or to them.

What you are seeing is not patriotism, Governor. What has surrounded you since your nomination, has been the echoing shout of mob rule. Indeed, that shout has echoed to Minnesota, where the next day an unstable Congresswoman named Michele Bachmann added to the ugly cry.

"I wish the American media would take a great look at the views of the people in Congress and find out, are they pro-America, or anti-America. I think people would love to see an expose' like that."

For nearly two years, Ms. Bachmann, who made her first political bones by keeping the movie "Aladdin" from being shown at a Minnesota Charter School because she thought it promoted paganism and witchcraft, has had a seat in the government of this nation, a seat from which she has spewed the most implausible, hateful, narrow-minded garbage imaginable.

Well, Congresswoman, you have gotten that "expose'" you wanted, have you not? Though not perhaps in the way you imagined.

Since giving voice to your remarkable delusion that there are members of Congress who are "anti-America," and the extraordinary tap-dance of sleaze and innuendo about Sen. Obama which followed, the challenger for your house Seat, Elwyn Tinklenberg, has been inundated by donations - $7,000 in the three days after you spoke.

Because the America you perceive, Congresswoman with its goblins and ghosts and vast unseen hordes of traitors and fellow travelers and Senators who won't ban "Aladdin" exists only in your head, and in the heads of the others who must rationalize the failures in their own lives and of their own policies as somebody else's fault as a conspiracy to deny them an America of exclusionism and religious orthodoxy and prejudice, about which they must accuse, and murmur, and shout threats, and cleave the nation into pro-America and anti-America."

And back it comes to the McCain campaign.

And Sen. McCain's talking head, Ms. Pfotenhauer, who on this very network Saturday, and seemingly without the slightest idea that dismissive prejudice dripped from every word, analyzed the race in Virginia.

"I can tell you that the Democrats have just come in from the District of Columbia and moved into northern Virginia," she said. "But the rest of the state, 'real Virginia,' if you will, I think will be very responsive to Sen. McCain's message."

Again, a toxic message. The parts of the country that agree with Nancy Pfotenhauer are real; the others, not. Ms. Pfotenhauer, why not go the distance on this one? It was Sen. McCain's own brother who called that part of Virginia nearest Washington "communist country."

Cut to the chase, Madam. No matter the intended comic hyperbole of Joe McCain. This is the point-isn't it? Leave out the real meaning of "Communism," Madam, Joe McCain reduced it to a buzz-word; it has no more true definition right now than does "Socialism," or the phrase "a man who sees America like you and I see America."

It's about us and them. The pro and the anti. Never mind, Madam, that the bi-secting of this country you would happily inspire, means taking a tiny crack in a dam and not repairing it but burrowing into it.

It is not enough that Sen. McCain and Sen. Obama might differ. One must be real and the other false. One must be pro-America and the other anti. Go back and, as your boss Rick Davis said today, "re-think," Mr. McCain's insistence not to drag the sorry bones of Jeremiah Wright into this campaign. And whatever you do, Ms. Pfotenhauer, allow no one enough time to think about the widening crack in the dam.

And now all of this comes together to attack Colin Powell. "Secretary Powell says his endorsement is not about race," writes Rush Limbaugh, the grand wizard of this school of reactionary non-thought.

"OK, fine. I am now researching his past endorsements to see if I can find all the inexperienced, very liberal, white candidates he has endorsed. I'll let you know what I come up with." It is not conceivable that Powell might reject McCain for the politics of hate and character assassination, or just for policy.

In the closed, sweaty world of the blind allegiances of Limbaugh, one of "us" who endorses one of "them," must be doing so for some other blind allegiance, like the color of skin.

The answer to this primordial muck, must be addressed to one man only. Sen. McCain, where are you? I disagree with you on virtually every major point of policy and practice. And yet I do not think you "anti-America." I would not hesitate to join you in time of crisis in defense of this country. Fortunately you did not echo this chorus of base hatred. But neither have you repudiated it.

What is "pro-America", Senator? Is it pro-America to call a man a racist because he endorses a different candidate? Senator, you have based your campaign on many premises, but the foremost (and the most nearly admirable) of all of them, have been the pitches about "reaching across the aisle," and putting, as your ubiquitous banners reed, "country first."

So when Colin Powell endorses your opponent, you say nothing as your supporters and proxies paint him in this "Anti-America" frame and place him in Gov. Palin's un-real America. Sen. McCain, did not Gen. Powell just "reach across the aisle?" Did he not, in his own mind at least, "put country first?" Is it not your responsibility, Senator, to, if not applaud, then at least quiet those in your half of our fractured political equation?

Is it not your responsibility, Senator, to say "enough" to Republican smears without end? Is it not your responsibility, Senator, to insist that, win or lose, you will not be party to a campaign that devolves into hatred and prejudice and divisiveness? And Sen. McCain, if it is not your responsibility, whose is it?

Nice Way to Elevate the Discourse, Republicans

David Frum got his conservative knickers in a twist on Rachel's show the other night, whining that liberals, what with all their on-point sarcasm and humor, were just as bad as his fellow rabid rightwingers calling out racist slurs and death threats at huge public rallies. Then, after insulting his gracious host, Frum called for elevating the discourse. He then went on to lie, in an NRO post, about the circumstances surrounding his appearance on the show in the first place. And oh yes, he complained--falsely (surprise)--that Keith Olbermann had called John McCain a Nazi.

Back to the elevating-the-discourse thing: clearly wealthy Republican fundraisers are taking Frum's supercilious "Let's Be Better!" suggestion to heart, ensuring that all rumor-mongering and hate speech henceforth would emanate from the party's elite and contain properly-spelled slurs and, when possible, the best grammar and clearest syntax they could muster.

To wit: the Tampa Tribune reports that longtime, high-level Tampa Republican fundraiser Al Austin recently sent out a blast e-mail--to numerous political contacts--that featured a joke about Barack Obama being assassinated. Michael Hussey, founder of the Tampa blog Pushing Rope (to which I sometimes contribute) and a friend of this blog, reports to me that he has personally confirmed the e-mail story's veracity with a reputable source. (Hussey has also published the original e-mail, if you can stomach it.)

From the Tribune piece:

The joke concerns a group of schoolchildren discussing the definition of “tragedy” as opposed to “great loss” or “accident.” The punch line comes when one child says that if an airplane carrying Obama and his wife, Michelle, “was struck by a ‘friendly fire’ missile and blown to smithereens,” the event might be a tragedy “because it certainly wouldn’t be a great loss, and it probably wouldn’t be an accident either.”

Austin acknowledged sending the e-mail to his list of political contacts but said he forwarded it without fully reading it and didn’t know what it said. That list included at least two reporters.

According to the forwarding history on the e-mail, it had gone through at least two other individuals before being sent to Austin on Tuesday.

Austin, a prominent real estate developer long known as one of the state’s leading Republican campaign fundraisers, has served in recent years as finance chairman for both the national and state Republican parties.

For his part, Austin said he made a mistake in sending the e-mail, and further, that he wouldn’t knowingly have circulated it, which begs the question: Does someone else have the password to Austin's private e-mail account? Perhaps he just confused Forward All with Delete.

Certainly Austin has proven, yet again, that as with so many of these rich and powerful wingnut assholes, not only are they full-on racists, losers, and imbeciles--they're also terrible liars.

Also at Cogitamus.

John Cleese on "The Funniest Palin"

The incomparable John Cleese hits the nail (and parrot!) squarely on the head in his comments about Republican V.P.-nominee Sarah Palin.

(H/T oddjob)

David Frum: Witty, Sarcastic Wiberals Make Fun of My Fwends and Hurt My Feelings

You know, when your party--a party that, I might add, put into office the Worst President in American History With Whom You'd Like to Have a Non-Alcoholic Beer; led the lie-ridden battle cry to invade a sovereign nation; drained the Treasury and drove us into the current record-breaking, staggering debt; assaulted the Constitution at every turn...oh, you know the drill--anyway, when your party, which has veered so far from the core values of true, capital-C Conservatism with its borrow-spend-deregulate-obliterate mentality, is finally exposed for the crony-and-lobbyist-filled sham it actually is, and your top two office-seekers are exposed for the race-baiting, lying charlatans they are, you really have no right (so to speak) to attack the Left.

No right whatsoever, David Frum.

And try as you may to work that old equivalency meme--"Wah wah wah...why can't we elevate the discourse...wah wah wah...the Left's sarcastic, unserious commentary based on fact is just as bad as our V.P.-nominee calling the Democratic Presidential nominee a terrorist and whipping up a crowd of violent thugs to the point where they yell out assassination threats while she stands there and does nothing"--I'm afraid you are not going to get that rubbish to fly, sir.

And throwing it at our brilliant, talented, ten-times-more-intelligent-than-you Rachel Maddow is not going to win friends or influence anyone, either.

Watch the video of last night's show and see this disgraceful human being for yourself. Mad props to the über-professional Rachel for keeping her cool and responding appropriately (to put it mildly).

UPDATE: Mr. Frum blames his interview crankiness on jet-lag and then takes a sarcastic (!) swipe at liberals who e-mailed him because they correctly refer to Rachel as Dr.--not Ms.--Maddow.

Friday Saturday Frank: Welcome to The United States; With Ensemble Modern, 1992

This was one of FZ's last appearances on stage, conducting Ensemble Modern in a rousing rendition of his witty Welcome to the United States.

As someone who appreciates all of Frank Zappa's musical incarnations--the comedy songs, the guitar albums, and the classical creations alike--I loved this piece for its deliberate overlapping of genres and its gentle (and not-so-gentle) jabs at the risible pompousness of the INS--an agency that, in name at least, exists no longer, having been absorbed into the Department of Homeland Security after You Know What.

Forgive the light posting these past couple of weeks, by the way--a combination of family events, school-related matters, viruses, cat mutinies, car-in-the-shop days, teenager angst, domestic chaos, stock market anxiety, insomnia, exhaustion, and a nasty art-class-related Exacto-knife wound (sustained by Son Two, not me) have kept me from sitting down and actually writing anything of length or substance. I'll be back, older and wiser, shortly. There is, after all, an election going on, right?!

Bon Weekend, everyone.

XXX
D.

"For Thoose Joe Sixpacks Out There Playin' a Drinkin' Game at Home: Maverick!"

Sometimes, by 11:30 on Saturday nights, I'm already in dreamland--and I'm a serious night person, which should tell you something about the life-altering properties of Having Children. Other times, I'm distracted or busy or even (gasp) out painting the town blue (no, I haven't converted any of the die-hard 19%-ers I know--not yet--but I'm working on it.) Since we're not yet dialed-in with a Tivo setup out here, I'm sooooooo glad (sorry!) that there's YouTube embeddable video at NBC: Tina Fey knocked another one out of the park here. And Queen Latifah as Gwen Ifill is hands-down brilliant. Enjoy! this before it gets pulled.

Friday Frank: The Mammy Anthem; Bolzano, Italy, 1982

The picture quality and sound aren't quite what you'd hope for, but Frank's extended guitar solo makes this one worth watching over and over. Honestly, I'd never seen it before today, when I happened to be musing on the events of this past couple of weeks, wondering what Frank would think about it all.

Strike that: I already know what he'd think because he told us as much a long time ago. What would Frank do about it, though?

Make art seems as good an answer as any.

Bon Weekend, everyone.

Also at Cogitamus.

Babies For Barack

[Adorableness warning]

As someone who's been there, done that (having babies, I mean, not running for the office of President), may I just say--again--how genuinely warm and real a human being Barack Obama is. And as far as being a loving and devoted Dad, something you've undoubtedly read over and over by now? Well, observe how he mirrors the babies' various expressions and how he engages the babies and manages to ignore the crowds and cameras in order to connect with the actual person within all these fierce little creatures. And he makes face after goofy face, too, while doing that intuitive swaying thing* I recognize and remember all too well.

You know, I was rather mother-cat-like with my babies--I had to fight the urge to swipe them back from the arms of their own pediatrician--but I'd have trusted Senator Obama to hold any of my newborns: besides the fact that he's supremely natural with the wee bairns and has an obvious ability to charm them, he clearly knows to extend his index and middle fingers to support that heavy little bobble-head they tend to have when very tiny.

Enjoy.

This very sweet Ramones-accompanied piece goes out to my wonderful Queen Mum.

Also at Cogitamus.

* Here's Part Two, which has movie footage--lots of kissing, hugging, and swaying--along with the still shots: