SERENDIPITY. I'm loving this: see what happens when you transpose a couple of letters in my address: alicublog.blogpsot.com.
What amazes me is, this guy thinks my fumble-fingered runoff is worth redirecting to his site.
UPDATE: Aw, shoot -- it happens with any other blogspot site. Mother was right -- I'm not special!
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
ANOTHER MORNING, ANOTHER OUTRAGE. Now the malefactor is John Derbyshire, whose theme, insofar as one can be detected, is that liberals are snobs, and thereby spiritually inferior to those charming folks who believe that God didn't make man from no monkey. It is a hilarious argument as, for one thing, Derbyshire's writing (here and elsewhere) is pretty much one long sneer, -- he's ill-suited to attack others for holding themselves superior to their fellow mortals. Also, here's the anecdote with which he defends his tree-hugger bad, knuckle-dragger good dichotomy:
This touching scene reminds me of the anti-Communist filmstrips we were shown in Catholic grammar school, in which the apparatchiks were always shown with fulsome sneers and (the clincher) smoking cigarettes. If they could have found any way to portray the female Commies as "slatternly girls" without bringing the near occasion of sin to us tender kinder, I'm sure they would have done so.
A lot of the reasoning at NRO these days is at about this level. That's one of the interesting things about the current war-gloat the Right's on. The much-vaunted Iraqi WMD seems, so far, to either be non-existent or available in such feeble conditions and quantities as to make any complaint of their imminent threat comical. The liberation of the poor Iraqis -- which became, in the later phases of the war, the new, cuddlier justification for the conflict-- is, as the ashes cool, beginning to manifest its absurdity: Iraq as a Republican-run human rights inititative that cost about a hundred billion dollars, and killed dozens of Americans and untold Iraqis. (Maybe that's what it takes to get Republicans behind a human-rights initiative: the promise of conquest, and contracts for their friends.) Their argument for the Iraq invasion increasingly boils down to "we won, so shut up." Considering how successful this logic has been, they can almost be forgiven for applying it to everything else. It's certainly easier than thinking.
Last year one of my neighbors, an elderly widow who was very kind and helpful to us when we first moved into this street, fell and broke her femur... The nursing home was a lovely place, spotlessly clean and well-run, smelling of floor-polish, fresh-cut flowers, and disinfectant. The staff were cheerful, attentive and brisk. I could not help but contrast it with the place in which my own mother spent some of her last days -- a privately-owned but municipally-supported place in England, staffed by ill-tempered slatternly girls and stinking of boiled cabbage and stale urine. Being taken to our neighbor's room, I noticed here and there discreet, plain little crucifixes on the walls. It was a Christian establishment, run by some evangelical group. Probably none of the staff believes in the theory of evolution.
This touching scene reminds me of the anti-Communist filmstrips we were shown in Catholic grammar school, in which the apparatchiks were always shown with fulsome sneers and (the clincher) smoking cigarettes. If they could have found any way to portray the female Commies as "slatternly girls" without bringing the near occasion of sin to us tender kinder, I'm sure they would have done so.
A lot of the reasoning at NRO these days is at about this level. That's one of the interesting things about the current war-gloat the Right's on. The much-vaunted Iraqi WMD seems, so far, to either be non-existent or available in such feeble conditions and quantities as to make any complaint of their imminent threat comical. The liberation of the poor Iraqis -- which became, in the later phases of the war, the new, cuddlier justification for the conflict-- is, as the ashes cool, beginning to manifest its absurdity: Iraq as a Republican-run human rights inititative that cost about a hundred billion dollars, and killed dozens of Americans and untold Iraqis. (Maybe that's what it takes to get Republicans behind a human-rights initiative: the promise of conquest, and contracts for their friends.) Their argument for the Iraq invasion increasingly boils down to "we won, so shut up." Considering how successful this logic has been, they can almost be forgiven for applying it to everything else. It's certainly easier than thinking.
Monday, April 21, 2003
YOUR MORNING IDIOTS. If it bothers you that Iraqi antiquities were looted, Clifford D. May says at NRO, you hate America. And WSJ Ignoramus Emeritus Robert Bartley don't like that there evolution business none too good ("The Scopes Monkey trial of 1925, the great defeat of the fundamentalists, has in particular come in for reassessment"). Which makes sense, because he's a living refutation of it.
Sunday, April 20, 2003
GOOD NEWS, BAD NEWS. In the space of a news cycle, a Pennsylvania girl was kidnapped and her parents killed, and the murderer/abductor apprehended. An Amber Alert had been speedily posted, though it doesn't seem to have figured in the arrest. But it has figured in others, including this recent Texas case.
The Amber Alert is a great thing. Throughout the Internet age we've heard talk of using technology to increase community involvement for the common good. This has mostly gone unrealized, but the Alerts really work, and I'm glad we have them.
I hope we can all spare a thought, though, for the Crime Bill just passed by the Senate that would Federalize the Alert system -- because, not willing to let well enough alone, our legislators have included in it over a hundred pages of additional legislation, including some drug and Internet provisions that have nothing to do with rescuing children, and which would invite judicial challenge sooner than later.
Under the proposed law, reports the Modesto Bee, "Property owners, for instance, can be criminally charged if they 'open, lease, rent, use or maintain any place, either temporarily or permanently,' that's employed in drug use." This provision, following an ugly trend, makes people responsible for events over which they may have no control -- which, apart from being patently unjust, also basically turns landlords into cops -- cops presumed to have powers of precognition, at that -- and that's a recipe for discriminatory renting practices, not to mention a further injection of paranoia into a society that's already dizzy with mistrust.
It would be nice if the Bill were stripped of all this crap and devoted entirely to making an already useful system better.
UPDATE: It should be mentioned that, from what I can find, the achievements of Amber Alerts so far are modest -- the best cases I can find (like the one aforementioned) are sketchy, and it's not always clear that the rescues are due to the system. This Oregon report, for example, is called "Boy Safe After Amber Alert Issued," but it may be that the boy in question was located by a scanner report, not the Amber Alert. I still think it's at least a promising idea, but this is all the more reason why we should be conscientious about its development, and certainly shouldn't be using it as an excuse to put all kinds of vaguely-related nonsense onto the lawbooks.
The Amber Alert is a great thing. Throughout the Internet age we've heard talk of using technology to increase community involvement for the common good. This has mostly gone unrealized, but the Alerts really work, and I'm glad we have them.
I hope we can all spare a thought, though, for the Crime Bill just passed by the Senate that would Federalize the Alert system -- because, not willing to let well enough alone, our legislators have included in it over a hundred pages of additional legislation, including some drug and Internet provisions that have nothing to do with rescuing children, and which would invite judicial challenge sooner than later.
Under the proposed law, reports the Modesto Bee, "Property owners, for instance, can be criminally charged if they 'open, lease, rent, use or maintain any place, either temporarily or permanently,' that's employed in drug use." This provision, following an ugly trend, makes people responsible for events over which they may have no control -- which, apart from being patently unjust, also basically turns landlords into cops -- cops presumed to have powers of precognition, at that -- and that's a recipe for discriminatory renting practices, not to mention a further injection of paranoia into a society that's already dizzy with mistrust.
It would be nice if the Bill were stripped of all this crap and devoted entirely to making an already useful system better.
UPDATE: It should be mentioned that, from what I can find, the achievements of Amber Alerts so far are modest -- the best cases I can find (like the one aforementioned) are sketchy, and it's not always clear that the rescues are due to the system. This Oregon report, for example, is called "Boy Safe After Amber Alert Issued," but it may be that the boy in question was located by a scanner report, not the Amber Alert. I still think it's at least a promising idea, but this is all the more reason why we should be conscientious about its development, and certainly shouldn't be using it as an excuse to put all kinds of vaguely-related nonsense onto the lawbooks.
A PASCHAL MYSTERY THAT BEST REMAINS UNSOLVED. As if Easter weren't depressing enough, I have just seen a promo for Fox's "Mr. Personality." I have it on good authority that the masks the men wear do not conceal wens, port-wine scars, or other entertaining disfigurements. And, as this is a network show, the Story of O intimations will certainly go unfulfilled.
I also hear that there will be a "Ms. Personality" as soon as Fox decides from among these premises:
I also hear that there will be a "Ms. Personality" as soon as Fox decides from among these premises:
- Boys Don't Cry-style breast restraints replace masks;
- All involved parties wear masks, which completely cover their mouths and eyes, making the host's commentary (and the ballroom dancing and hot tub scenes) vastly more interesting;
- Masks have beaks stuffed with aromatic herbs to prevent SARS infection;
- Masks are entirely dispensed with and half-wits of both sexes merely flirt, gibber, and get it on.
Saturday, April 19, 2003
A MIGHTY WIND. Saw the new Christopher Guest movie last night. It delivered the expected laughs, thank God, as at this stage the price of a movie ticket is a serious investment for me, and if my breathing and/or thinking muscles don't get a good workout I consider myself royally rooked. The movie's goals are modest in the big-picture sense, and all the attention is lavished on versimilitude and comic engineering. The album jackets, archival footage, tunes, and physical and emotional characterizations (from Christopher Guest's quavering Peter Yarrow schtick to the annoyingly hearty New Main Street Singers) are even better-observed than in This is Spinal Tap.
It wasn't as hilarious to me as Spinal Tap for a couple of reasons .Foremost, rock and roll is just funnier than folk -- more bombastic, and more overtly enabling of lunatics at every level. Now there are some freaked-out folkies in the world, true, but you just don't get the kind of dirt on Pete Seeger and Mary Travers you get on their rock equivalents. And folk music just doesn't have Stonehenge (or cucumbers down the pants).
Also, Guest gambled a bit on his Mitch and Mickey characters. When Eugene Levy came out in his zombie mode, I thought we were in for many cheap burn-out jokes (and there were some, and they were all great). But Mitch and Mickey have kind of a sweet, sad story, and its payoff was really touching (though the coda was properly cynical). Roger Ebert thinks Guest went soft on his characters here and that vitiated the humor. Well, maybe -- Albert Brooks' earlier movies have more yuks than his later, gentler ones (like The Muse and Defending Your Life), and the corrosive Real Life is still my favorite. But in a world full of harshness I can't fault anyone for giving us a little more of the human dimension.
I also have to confess that I have a soft spot for 60s folk music of the cleaned-up and canned variety parodied here. My mother had a live Limelighters album, and a few years ago I got my own copy of it. To hear these well-scrubbed boys wailing their arch rendition of "There's a Meetin' Here Tonight," and imagining a bunch of equally well-scrubbed college students getting their groove on to it in some candle-in-the-Chinati-bottle joint, for some reason gives me great pleasure. It's just so square, but energetic at the same time -- full of hope and promise, and maybe embarrassing precisely for that reason. Rock gives you an out by being cynical. With folk at its worst-best (excluding, that is, the Loudon Wainwrights and John Prines, who have their own, different charm, and of course the antifolkies), you have some guy beating strings on a wooden box and trying to get the crowd to howl along about peace and freedom or some immigrant past he read about in a sociology class. It's silly, but it's also sweet -- not "sweet" in the IBM-ad way (I just made a million off some idiot followers of a shitty band! Sweet!), but in its traditional sense.
So Guest cut 'em some slack. And so do I.
It wasn't as hilarious to me as Spinal Tap for a couple of reasons .Foremost, rock and roll is just funnier than folk -- more bombastic, and more overtly enabling of lunatics at every level. Now there are some freaked-out folkies in the world, true, but you just don't get the kind of dirt on Pete Seeger and Mary Travers you get on their rock equivalents. And folk music just doesn't have Stonehenge (or cucumbers down the pants).
Also, Guest gambled a bit on his Mitch and Mickey characters. When Eugene Levy came out in his zombie mode, I thought we were in for many cheap burn-out jokes (and there were some, and they were all great). But Mitch and Mickey have kind of a sweet, sad story, and its payoff was really touching (though the coda was properly cynical). Roger Ebert thinks Guest went soft on his characters here and that vitiated the humor. Well, maybe -- Albert Brooks' earlier movies have more yuks than his later, gentler ones (like The Muse and Defending Your Life), and the corrosive Real Life is still my favorite. But in a world full of harshness I can't fault anyone for giving us a little more of the human dimension.
I also have to confess that I have a soft spot for 60s folk music of the cleaned-up and canned variety parodied here. My mother had a live Limelighters album, and a few years ago I got my own copy of it. To hear these well-scrubbed boys wailing their arch rendition of "There's a Meetin' Here Tonight," and imagining a bunch of equally well-scrubbed college students getting their groove on to it in some candle-in-the-Chinati-bottle joint, for some reason gives me great pleasure. It's just so square, but energetic at the same time -- full of hope and promise, and maybe embarrassing precisely for that reason. Rock gives you an out by being cynical. With folk at its worst-best (excluding, that is, the Loudon Wainwrights and John Prines, who have their own, different charm, and of course the antifolkies), you have some guy beating strings on a wooden box and trying to get the crowd to howl along about peace and freedom or some immigrant past he read about in a sociology class. It's silly, but it's also sweet -- not "sweet" in the IBM-ad way (I just made a million off some idiot followers of a shitty band! Sweet!), but in its traditional sense.
So Guest cut 'em some slack. And so do I.
Friday, April 18, 2003
A MISSPENT YOUTH. A honey, found on Yglesias -- a 14-year-old conservative author published by World Net Daily Books.
There are precedents for this. Richard Brookhiser was 16, I believe, when he started writing for National Review. (I recall an article he did for them on the anti-Vietnam War Moratorium demo in 1970.)
Brookhiser today is indistinguishable from any other right-wing gasbag. Talented as he is, he could have done anything with his life, yet he spends it writing crap like this.
Brookhiser, from the looks of him, is upper-echelon rightwing and well compensated for his work. Still, the sense of waste is palpable. If he had to write, he could have done short stories, screenplays, punk rock lyrics, etc. After some raps in the mouth, turn-off notices, and reviews of various dispositions, he would have been forced into the decision we all must make -- whether or not writing's worth it even without the money -- and thereafter pursued a destiny of his own making. Whether it be foolhardy or praiseworthy, every man should chart his own course.
But Uncle Bill Buckley and a whole host of enablers clapped for little Richard and set him up a child laborer. Today the former Golden Boy is a functionary, a lifer, an assistant minister of culture for the Forces of Darkness. How his parents must weep. And now little Kyle Williams will be railroaded into a similar fate.
I don't know what's worse -- encouraging a kid to become a writer, or encouraging him to become a political blowhard. Neither is an enviable destiny under the best of circumstances, but to have the die cast for you before the age of consent is downright tragic.
Come to thing of it, Yglesias looks a little young for this sort of work himself.
There are precedents for this. Richard Brookhiser was 16, I believe, when he started writing for National Review. (I recall an article he did for them on the anti-Vietnam War Moratorium demo in 1970.)
Brookhiser today is indistinguishable from any other right-wing gasbag. Talented as he is, he could have done anything with his life, yet he spends it writing crap like this.
Brookhiser, from the looks of him, is upper-echelon rightwing and well compensated for his work. Still, the sense of waste is palpable. If he had to write, he could have done short stories, screenplays, punk rock lyrics, etc. After some raps in the mouth, turn-off notices, and reviews of various dispositions, he would have been forced into the decision we all must make -- whether or not writing's worth it even without the money -- and thereafter pursued a destiny of his own making. Whether it be foolhardy or praiseworthy, every man should chart his own course.
But Uncle Bill Buckley and a whole host of enablers clapped for little Richard and set him up a child laborer. Today the former Golden Boy is a functionary, a lifer, an assistant minister of culture for the Forces of Darkness. How his parents must weep. And now little Kyle Williams will be railroaded into a similar fate.
I don't know what's worse -- encouraging a kid to become a writer, or encouraging him to become a political blowhard. Neither is an enviable destiny under the best of circumstances, but to have the die cast for you before the age of consent is downright tragic.
Come to thing of it, Yglesias looks a little young for this sort of work himself.
RIGHT LESSON, WRONG COUNTRY. "We must not let future generations down by bequeathing them a legacy of a society that is divided, a national debt that will break their backs, an educational system that churns out parrots and a society that wallows in self-pity and snivels in mortification at the first sign of a problem."
When I saw it on Instapundit my heart leapt. Then I saw that the guy was talking about Iraq.
Divided society, back-breaking debt, lousy public education, and self-pity that won't quit -- ain't that America?
When I saw it on Instapundit my heart leapt. Then I saw that the guy was talking about Iraq.
Divided society, back-breaking debt, lousy public education, and self-pity that won't quit -- ain't that America?
Thursday, April 17, 2003
SUCH IDIOCY MUST BE COMMEMORATED. "No French goods should be bought here. None. I suggest they have some music at their meeting to set the mood. They should buy a copy of the 'Have You Forgotten?' CD and play it over and over until they understand." -- Jed Babbin, NRO.
"Have You Forgotten?" (for those living in fortunate ignorance of such crap) is a country song telling us that September 11 was the reason for the attack on Saddam Hussein, whose connection with September 11 is as far from proven as Jed Babbin is from common sense.
"Have You Forgotten?" (for those living in fortunate ignorance of such crap) is a country song telling us that September 11 was the reason for the attack on Saddam Hussein, whose connection with September 11 is as far from proven as Jed Babbin is from common sense.
WITCH-BURNING 101. "What the New York Times and Washington Post may really be afraid of, though, is something Mr. Paige isn't even pushing. That all of this may clear the way for local school boards to allow curriculum to include serious and honest debate about the role religion has played in society." -- Brendan Miniter, Wall Street Journal
I'm not afraid of that at all. Hell, I would like to teach such a class.
Along with Galileo and the Inquisition, we can treat the burning of Tyndale (and Cranmer, Rogers, et alia), such papal insanities as the Trail of Pope Formosus' corpse, the banning of books, the persecution of sects, and all manner of interference with the lives of free men by churches and churchmen, from blue laws to Bowers vs. Hardwick.
I don't think that's what Miniter had in mind. But if he's serious about the subject (just saying, of course), he must know that such negative examples would inevitably come up (unless they are suppressed from the newly-freed religious discussion, and, boy, the levels of irony there would do homage to a HoJo's parfait).
Let's plan ahead for this, since, like most of what our idiot prince's minions propose these days, it will probably come to pass. How should our proposed socio-religious teachers respond to ACLU-style flak during their "Jesus and Our Government" lessons? Here's a suggested response:
"Mistakes were made. Despite their long history of savage persecutions, most religions are now relatively benign units that dispense soup to the needy and pablum to their congregations -- except in some Muslim countries that we're going to take over soon anyway. Look, kids, give me a break -- you know I have to teach this shit. You don't have to pay any more attention to me than you do to the English teachers. All you have to do is pass the Federal test, and you've all got crammers for that. So don't ask so many questions. After all, it's not anything important -- it's just school."
I'm not afraid of that at all. Hell, I would like to teach such a class.
Along with Galileo and the Inquisition, we can treat the burning of Tyndale (and Cranmer, Rogers, et alia), such papal insanities as the Trail of Pope Formosus' corpse, the banning of books, the persecution of sects, and all manner of interference with the lives of free men by churches and churchmen, from blue laws to Bowers vs. Hardwick.
I don't think that's what Miniter had in mind. But if he's serious about the subject (just saying, of course), he must know that such negative examples would inevitably come up (unless they are suppressed from the newly-freed religious discussion, and, boy, the levels of irony there would do homage to a HoJo's parfait).
Let's plan ahead for this, since, like most of what our idiot prince's minions propose these days, it will probably come to pass. How should our proposed socio-religious teachers respond to ACLU-style flak during their "Jesus and Our Government" lessons? Here's a suggested response:
"Mistakes were made. Despite their long history of savage persecutions, most religions are now relatively benign units that dispense soup to the needy and pablum to their congregations -- except in some Muslim countries that we're going to take over soon anyway. Look, kids, give me a break -- you know I have to teach this shit. You don't have to pay any more attention to me than you do to the English teachers. All you have to do is pass the Federal test, and you've all got crammers for that. So don't ask so many questions. After all, it's not anything important -- it's just school."
PROGRAM NOTES. I love my employers, really, I do. But I have to get something off my chest. (Long look to the right, long look to the left.) I hate, hate, hate Lotus Notes.
You need a post-doctoral degree to fucking archive. If you have more than five notes in your inbox, all kinds of wack shit takes place.
F'rinstance, say I get a "new mail" alert, but I happen to be mucking around in my Sent mailbox. When I switch over to the Inbox, the new mail is not there. Eventually -- some 10 to 30 minutes later -- the mail will appear. But this bizarre arrangement cuts much of the immediacy out of email, which is a large part of the point of email, isn't it?
Maybe it works differently on Macs. Wait a minute -- I worked with Notes on a Mac in another job. It only sucked slightly less.
But, then, anything does. Bedcause I hate, hate, hate Windows.
You need a post-doctoral degree to fucking archive. If you have more than five notes in your inbox, all kinds of wack shit takes place.
F'rinstance, say I get a "new mail" alert, but I happen to be mucking around in my Sent mailbox. When I switch over to the Inbox, the new mail is not there. Eventually -- some 10 to 30 minutes later -- the mail will appear. But this bizarre arrangement cuts much of the immediacy out of email, which is a large part of the point of email, isn't it?
Maybe it works differently on Macs. Wait a minute -- I worked with Notes on a Mac in another job. It only sucked slightly less.
But, then, anything does. Bedcause I hate, hate, hate Windows.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
GREATER NEW YORK. The local Fox affiliate -- that's New York, to those coming late to this epic poem I call a weblog -- showed results of an online poll that asked viewers to name their greatest concern with Mayor Bloomburg's budget decisions. 29 percent of respondents named the proposed commuter tax.
This is something that occurs to me now and then: New York City stations actually broadcast well beyond our city limits, into what's called the Tri-State Area. So it's not so weird that many Fox viewers would take a suburban view of our crisis (Just don't charge me for anything!). Nor is it weird that so many segments on the local news shows will be about something going on in other jurisdictions, nor that the weather, traffic updates, and calendar events shift focus from the City That Never Sleeps to the Towns, Villages, and Hamlets That Never Wake Up.
But the poll made clear to me something I usually only dimly acknowledge: that a lot of people outside the City have a stake in New York. We employ thousands of out-of-towners, and entertain and play host to thousands more. Whatever the civic integrity of the many smaller units that surround us, they all have an eye turned toward us. Will it be tough getting through the tunnel tomorrow morning? Will some parade or state visit impede traffic? How long's the Orchid Show running?
And this extends even to an offhand kind of empathy. Our news is to a large extent their news. They probably are more aware of the bouncer that was killed in the East Village last weekend than they would be of a bouncer killed in the next Township. We all cluck our tongues or feel badly about the trials and travails of nationally-broadcast news subjects, but once Elizabeth Smart is off the tube, Laci Peterson is on it, and here comes Michael Skakel for a repeat performance. That camera jumps from locale to locale. But New York is a fixed stage which three states, at least, take in on a daily basis.
That ought to make me feel closer to at least this nearby bloc of non-New Yorkers. But it just makes me feel further from them. We're the ones drowning in debt and intermittently occupied by rifle-toting troopers. They're living in green acres and watching us go broke from well-appointed rec rooms. And whenever we ask for a hand, we usually get the back of it. Sheldon Silver is trying to squeeze a couple billion out of the state assembly for the City, and the Governor's office calls it "outrageous." Peekskill Pataki knows where his bread is buttered.
After Giulianification and everything else, we remain the place where they'd never want to live but would certainly visit to take in dinner and a show -- just so long as the streets are clean and well-patrolled, and no one asks them to take a personal interest in how they might remain so.
This is something that occurs to me now and then: New York City stations actually broadcast well beyond our city limits, into what's called the Tri-State Area. So it's not so weird that many Fox viewers would take a suburban view of our crisis (Just don't charge me for anything!). Nor is it weird that so many segments on the local news shows will be about something going on in other jurisdictions, nor that the weather, traffic updates, and calendar events shift focus from the City That Never Sleeps to the Towns, Villages, and Hamlets That Never Wake Up.
But the poll made clear to me something I usually only dimly acknowledge: that a lot of people outside the City have a stake in New York. We employ thousands of out-of-towners, and entertain and play host to thousands more. Whatever the civic integrity of the many smaller units that surround us, they all have an eye turned toward us. Will it be tough getting through the tunnel tomorrow morning? Will some parade or state visit impede traffic? How long's the Orchid Show running?
And this extends even to an offhand kind of empathy. Our news is to a large extent their news. They probably are more aware of the bouncer that was killed in the East Village last weekend than they would be of a bouncer killed in the next Township. We all cluck our tongues or feel badly about the trials and travails of nationally-broadcast news subjects, but once Elizabeth Smart is off the tube, Laci Peterson is on it, and here comes Michael Skakel for a repeat performance. That camera jumps from locale to locale. But New York is a fixed stage which three states, at least, take in on a daily basis.
That ought to make me feel closer to at least this nearby bloc of non-New Yorkers. But it just makes me feel further from them. We're the ones drowning in debt and intermittently occupied by rifle-toting troopers. They're living in green acres and watching us go broke from well-appointed rec rooms. And whenever we ask for a hand, we usually get the back of it. Sheldon Silver is trying to squeeze a couple billion out of the state assembly for the City, and the Governor's office calls it "outrageous." Peekskill Pataki knows where his bread is buttered.
After Giulianification and everything else, we remain the place where they'd never want to live but would certainly visit to take in dinner and a show -- just so long as the streets are clean and well-patrolled, and no one asks them to take a personal interest in how they might remain so.
ALT.JESUS. I see Evanescence has made its big crossover move. Let's see where they take it from here. However, I have to say that it's getting harder to pick the rockin' Christers out of a lineup. It was months before I knew Creed, Evanescence's erstwhile labelmate, was singing to me about Jesus. (I only knew that I'd had enough of that particular vocal affectation about two verses in, and Nickelback hadn't even broken yet.) I ain't seeing too much overt prosletyzing at Creed's website, either. Of course, I don't watch many videos, and I notice they have at least one with stigmata, so maybe their message is just pitched sufficiently on the downlow to make it a cool-factor -- you know, like drugs used to be.
The Byrds, The Rolling Stones, Lou Reed -- they've all name-checked the Messiah. Maybe one of them should negotiate for Evanescence's old slot.
The Byrds, The Rolling Stones, Lou Reed -- they've all name-checked the Messiah. Maybe one of them should negotiate for Evanescence's old slot.
MISTAH KURTZ, HE NUTS. All you really need is the title of the new Stanley Kurtz joint: "Democratic Imperialism: A Blueprint." You can slog through the whole thing if you like, and learn how John Stuart Mill's nervous breakdown changed the course of British policy in India (Sigh -- remember when "the personal is the political" was the left's screwy idea?), but I warn you, it's basically about how to pacify the wogs -- er, ragheads -- er, whomever. (Sample quote: "The trick is to encourage electoral experiments on the local level while still keeping hold of national power." I'd say "trick" is the very word.)
You know, wingers froth over Noam Chomsky, but the Professor's "client state" paradigm is holding up pretty good at the moment.
You know, wingers froth over Noam Chomsky, but the Professor's "client state" paradigm is holding up pretty good at the moment.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
ON THE BRIGHT SIDE. The weather is gorgeous. People midtown seem to be running less on nervous energy than on bright-eyedness and bushy-tailedness. Jackets are draped over single shoulders, sunglasses are proudly perched on upturned nose-bridges. And the goat-footed balloon man whistles far and wee.
MORE TRICKS OF THE TRADE. A fascinating story in the NY Sun (to which rag I won't link because they require subscription, and because they suck -- though I will link to a hilarious site that daily calls the bastards out) about a movement among Congressional mouth-breathers to mandate "ideological diversity" at universities -- here's a taste of the plan:
Notice the author's quick dash from the harsh facts of the first graf -- in which he glibly informs us that soon professors may be hired and fired on the overt basis of personal beliefs -- to the assurance that such a law would be no different from a D.C. anti-discrimination ordinance (notwithstanding, though, that the D.C. law prevents exclusion, whereas the proposed fiat would seem to demand it). But you wouldn't have to notice it to know that something's up.
One partial tipoff is the headline, "Universities Resist Efforts To Require Ideological Diversity On Campuses," which has the classically awkward backward construction (for isn't the proposed law itself, draconian yet little-covered, the more newsworthy subject?) of a soft-soap job.
Another is the mention of anti-Semitism, prominent in the lead graf and sprinkled elsewhere. As portrayed, the law would not specifically protect Jews, and creating quotas based on "religion and party registration" to get at anti-Semites is akin to blowing up a mountain to shake some oranges from a nearby tree. Real anti-Semitism is a serious thing (oy -- what a pain in the ass is this blogospheric due-diligence!), but we can safely assume that in the case of this "reporter" -- one Timothy Starks -- brandishment of anti-Semitism is merely the refuge (though probably not the last) of a scoundrel.
See how it works?
The Senate Republican aide said no official method of measuring "ideological diversity" has been set, as the legislation has not been drafted yet. But the aide said such factors as religion and party registration could be used.
It wouldn’t be the first time there’s been a law banning ideological discrimination; the District of Columbia, for example, bars discrimination based on party affiliation as well as race, gender and sexual orientation.
Notice the author's quick dash from the harsh facts of the first graf -- in which he glibly informs us that soon professors may be hired and fired on the overt basis of personal beliefs -- to the assurance that such a law would be no different from a D.C. anti-discrimination ordinance (notwithstanding, though, that the D.C. law prevents exclusion, whereas the proposed fiat would seem to demand it). But you wouldn't have to notice it to know that something's up.
One partial tipoff is the headline, "Universities Resist Efforts To Require Ideological Diversity On Campuses," which has the classically awkward backward construction (for isn't the proposed law itself, draconian yet little-covered, the more newsworthy subject?) of a soft-soap job.
Another is the mention of anti-Semitism, prominent in the lead graf and sprinkled elsewhere. As portrayed, the law would not specifically protect Jews, and creating quotas based on "religion and party registration" to get at anti-Semites is akin to blowing up a mountain to shake some oranges from a nearby tree. Real anti-Semitism is a serious thing (oy -- what a pain in the ass is this blogospheric due-diligence!), but we can safely assume that in the case of this "reporter" -- one Timothy Starks -- brandishment of anti-Semitism is merely the refuge (though probably not the last) of a scoundrel.
See how it works?
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