Spiraling Toward Irrelevancy

William F. Buckley, Jr.; 1925 - 2008

2008-11-24T16:40:00.003-05:00

Had he lived, William F. Buckley, Jr. would have been 83 today. There is no diminishing the impact Mr. Buckley had on my life and writing career, not to mention the minds and thought processes of millions and millions of others. To mark the occasion, I have linked to his 1968 appearance on Laugh-In, in three parts. (For whatever reason, embedding the videos here wasn't immediately possible; some technical glitch or the other.)

http://media.putfile.com/William-F-Buckley-on-Laugh-In-part-1

http://media.putfile.com/William-F-Buckley-on-Laugh-In-part-2

http://media.putfile.com/William-F-Buckley-on-Laugh-In-part-3

Shelby Foote; 1916 - 2005

2008-11-17T08:01:00.003-05:00

Had he lived, Shelby Foote - author of the absolutely astounding three volume opus The Civil War: A Narrative (hardcover used; paperback new) - would have been 92 today. Like so many others, I was first exposed to Foote via Ken Burns' brilliant film, The Civil War, nearly a decade before I began my own study into Lincoln and the War Between the States. Someone took the time to splice together memorable footage of Foote from the Burns film, which I present here, in memoriam.

Well, This Was Bound to Happen

2008-11-09T08:16:00.001-05:00

Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are

"TGO Radio Election Night Live" Updates.

2008-10-18T02:54:00.005-04:00

The only “official” TGO Radio listed at Blog Talk Radio is at 9pm EST on Election Night, but there will be a few hour-long live shows (“TGO Radio Open Mic Night Live”) between now and then. Looks like the first could be on Friday, 24 October, but that could change if we encounter any equipment problems between now and then. Check back here for updates.

My old ISP was thrown to the curb a couple weeks ago, and Comcast was installed yesterday afternoon; Internet should not be a problem. Jeff will be dropping by here Monday evening, and we’ll be tearing apart my front room in order to install our Election Night “recording studio,” along with two of our three television screens. That (hopefully) accomplished, we’ll record a test show on Tuesday evening (sixty minutes, not live, no callers), and if that goes well, the live show on Friday.

The Election Day guide is just about finished. [Above: a screen capture of the first House page, in Word.] Completed sections include State Electoral votes by time of poll closings, State governors, Gubernatorial races, and House races. (Currently working on Senate races, and anticipate it being done Saturday evening.) At that point the completed guide will be about 70 pages in length, not including our individual research. That will leave the entire last two weeks for research. [Below: several of the handwritten notes employed for the election guide.]

TGORadio.com should be online next weekend; nothing fancy, just info on the open mic and Election Night shows. A “Radio” page at BrianWise.com will be up this weekend; same story.

Our guest list for Election Night is slowly coming together; slowly. With a two hour show, and with everything involved with the election happening live, it will be somewhat difficult to schedule people, so we’re in the unique position of assuming certain people can be interviewed at certain times. More on the guest list in the next several days (hopefully).

Quite Possibly the Greatest Blog Ever

2008-10-09T00:49:00.000-04:00

Link.

TGO Radio Election Night Live

2008-09-27T19:33:00.002-04:00

What began in early August as a generic attempt to bring TGO Radio back to a computer near you has now morphed into a live, two-hour Election Night special, TGO Radio Election Night Life, which will broadcast through the Blog Talk Radio website starting at 9pm on Election Night, Tuesday, 04 November.

We only just decided to sally forth this last Wednesday, but so far we’re bringing in three television monitors (Fox, CNN, MSNBC), a spotter, a news girl; we’ll be taking listener phone calls, conducting interviews with correspondents in many of the various battleground States as well as other notable, election related guests. So on and so forth.

More details as they become relevant; but in the process of assembling the election guides we’ll be using that night, I have scribbled fervently upon both sides of several sheets of paper….

Mark Steyn Worked During His Summer Vacation.

2008-09-20T08:52:00.005-04:00

... which is more than I can say for mine, which was spent chasing tail, sleeping, and refusing to write even a return address on any envelope.

Anyways. Here's a great paragraph from a Steyn column currently featured on his website:

They [the Clintons] won through the Nineties. The Clintons’ Democratic Party was great for the Clintons, lousy for the Democratic Party, which in the course of the decade lost Senate seats, House seats, Governors’ mansions, state legislatures and on and on, until, in a final snook cocked at his comrades, Bill Clinton was unable to bequeath the White House to his vice-president in a time of peace and prosperity – but his wife, campaigning for her first political office, managed to pick up a Senate seat in a state she’d barely spent 20 minutes in.

Linkus Maximus.

Music Review: Death Magnetic by Metallica

2008-09-11T21:43:00.002-04:00

The first clue that Metallica had begun taking itself seriously again came when it announced Rick Rubin had been hired to produce its next album. In doing this it (finally) shunned bubble gum producer Bob Rock, whose ignominious claim to fame is sitting stoically as the greatest heavy metal band in the world recorded pop song after pop song, released horrific album after horrific album, was summarily surpassed by Pantera, then Slipknot, and finally by a wide variety of more thoughtful rock bands (e.g., Tool, The White Stripes, Queens of the Stone Age). By the time it released the appalling St. Anger in June 2003, Metallica had relegated itself to a quivering, pointless mess.

But the thought of Rick Rubin sitting in on the recording sessions gave fans hope. In the liner notes for his album 12 Songs, Neil Diamond wrote that Rubin pushed him to write better songs, entering the studio only when the songs met his, meaning Rubin’s, exacting standards. For those who hoped Metallica would someday return to something resembling its former self, Rubin was looked upon as a savior. (Think Barack Obama, if he’d actually spent his entire career accomplishing meaningful things.)

The end result is Death Magnetic, the first indication since 1991 that the band also has some interest in reverting to its once great state of being. It doesn’t quite turn the corner, and likely can’t, but at least the effort if genuine.

First, the bad: Death Magnetic is an abject failure lyrically. “The Unforgiven III,” for example, is lyrically about as silly as man in his mid-forties should ever sound; same with “All Nightmare Long” and “The Day That Never Comes.” (Thankfully, “The Day That Never Comes” concludes with a scathing three minute jam, which is about as solid and interesting a piece of music as Metallica has ever recorded.)

Thanks to the weepy, therapy ridden, male PMS-infused documentary Some Kind of Monster, we know that for the album St. Anger, the band arrived at a sort of lyrics-by-committee set up, so everyone could feel they were actually contributing (or something). To the filmmaker’s credit, we see Kirk Hammett reading aloud his legitimately brilliant gift to what became the worst rock album of the decade so far (“My lifestyle / determines my death style”). Unknown whether this lyrical process remained in place for Death Magnetic, but if so, it deserves to be scrapped when, and if, it comes time to record another album.

At various points I found myself rolling my eyes and breathing irritated sighs – far too many of the lyrics read like bad poetry written by fifteen-year-olds. One hopes the band stumbles across some arcane socialist writer from the late nineteenth century, and starts ripping him off. (Say what you want about socialists: They’re wrong and frequently smell bad, but at least they’re interesting.)

Next, the good: Musically, Death Magnetic is the best album Metallica has recorded since its legendary 1988 album … And Justice for All. In fact, despite a ten minute instrumental and the majority of the songs clocking in at well over seven minutes, there were several times when I hoped James Hetfield would stop singing altogether, because he’s often stepping on the music.

All but “The Unforgiven III” are at least musically interesting, and in many cases provocative. When it comes to songs like “The Day That Never Comes” (the aforementioned three minute jam) and “All Nightmare Long,” the stellar quality of the music seems to erase almost entirely the terrible lyrics. Same with the first three tracks – “That Was Just Your Life,” “The End of the Line,” and “Broken Beat and Scarred,” which are merely mediocre lyrically.

I will back away from earlier private assertions that Death Magnetic could be the album of the year. Taken as a whole, it doesn’t come close enough to a sustained standard of excellence. But this album is the first must-own Metallica offering in two decades, and “The Judas Kiss” is a strong frontrunner for song of the year.

Incidentally: Yes, Rick Rubin saved Metallica.

Passable: “That Was Just Your Life” (track one); “The End of the Line” (track two); “Broken Beat and Scarred” (track three).

Not So Much: “All Nightmare Long” (track five) and “Cyanide” (track six).

Horrible: “The Unforgiven III” (track seven).

Horrible and Great: “The Day That Never Comes” (track four) – the first five minutes are godawful, the last three are genius.

Great: “The Judas Kiss” (track eight); “Suicide and Redemption” (track nine); “My Apocalypse” (track ten).

Save the House Where Superman Was Born

2008-09-05T04:46:00.002-04:00

Link: Ordinary People Change the World, its partial purpose is to preserve the house in Cleveland, Ohio where Superman was created in 1932.

Quote: "The house where Google was created is saved. The farm where Hewlett Packard was founded is preserved. And Richard Nixon’s house is a museum. But the house where Superman — one of the world’s most recognized heroes — was created? It’s a wreck. So, with the creation of The Siegel & Shuster Society, we hope to raise enough money to repair the house and make sure it will be saved, restored, and there so you can take your kids one day."

TGO ♥ Sarah Palin / RNC Speech

2008-09-04T00:32:00.008-04:00

Waiting for postable video of Governor Palin's convention speech, but in the meantime, here's Mark Steyn:

"Next to her [Palin's] resume, a guy who's done nothing but serve in the phony-baloney job of 'community organizer' and write multiple autobiographies looks like just another creepily self-absorbed lifelong member of the full-time political class that infests every advanced democracy."

Readsies.

Updatesies; 7.47am EST: Governor Palin's speech, in full. * sigh * (Thanks C-Span.)

Another Update: Friday, 05 September @ 5.17am: Reuters reports that Governor Palin " ... nearly matched Barack Obama's record TV audience with her speech on Wednesday accepting the Republican nomination for vice president, topping 37 million U.S. viewers. The 38.4 million viewers averaged by Obama as he accepted the Democratic nomination for president Aug. 28 in Denver is the biggest commercial TV audience ever for a single night of a U.S. political convention." Et cetera.

Alaska: Rich in Oil and Natural Gas. Latex? Apparently, Not So Much

2008-09-03T17:02:00.004-04:00

Column production has begun; this week's column is about half done. If I can ever bring it to a satisfactory intellectual conclusion, "The Other Palin Girl" (title is tentaive, about Bristol Palin) could be released here (and at the Dot Com) late Thursday night, rest of world Friday. Having some trouble cramming all the ideas into 650 words, which is (1) what I get for taking two-and-a-half months off to chase tail, and (2) why I say IF, but so far, so good.

Re: TGO Radio. Taping for this Friday is out; the date of the next test taping is in the air.

UPDATED Friday, 05 September @ 4.25am. I have absolutely lost interest in the column mentioned above; will try something else next week.

TGO Radio Production Notes (Part Three) / Columns

2008-09-03T00:57:00.002-04:00

1) Clearly in need of some re-tooling, Jeff and I (minus show producer Doug Reacharound) took last week off from recording – meaning Wednesday, 27 August – to discuss tighter format ideas and a divvying up of research responsibilities. There was a lot of, “Well listen, man, if we’re going to do this, then we need to get serious about it and really do it for twelve weeks, not half-ass it.” And there was also a lot of, “We can absolutely do this and get an informative show out of it for twelve weeks at a time.”

Of course, all that dissolved into various other topics of discussion, absolutely none having to do with the radio show, and by the time I got around to telling about the time I saw a kid wipe out in front of Camp TGO a few summers ago, we were so completely off topic as to be hopeless. Finally, when we absolutely had no time left, we acted as though we were getting serious: I scribbled some things down (news and news analysis outlets I thought we needed to monitor for content), said to Jeff, “Okay, you do this, this, and this; and I’ll do this, this, and this.” I muttered something about taking care of the format.

The next test recording session was then scheduled for Tuesday (meaning yesterday), a day earlier than usual due to my having a very important previous commitment. (Okay, a local sports team is going to the playoffs, and I’m going to the opening game.) But last Friday morning I began losing my voice, wholly without the usual sickness or throat pain you would assume would accompany such a malady. It was so bad by Saturday morning that I feared a prolonged sickness of some sort.

I saw Jeff Saturday, in the midst of the mysterious ailment, and hardly any word of the show was spoken. Which was fine, because we had episodes of American Dad! to watch. As the new week dawned my voice regained strength, leading to the question Tuesday of whether we were going to record. Neither of us were prepared. I vetoed recording with no other comment, thinking maybe we could do it later this week, if not next Wednesday.

I can tell you that what little patience and faith I had for this project is just about spent. No one is at fault, we’re just not finding our stride. Two more test shows at an absolute maximum, and if we can’t find our footing, I’ll give TGO Radio its third Viking funeral.

2) Following "summer vacation," column production could begin anew this week.

Alan Colmes: Keeping it Classy

2008-09-01T20:09:00.003-04:00

Here is a link to an archived blog posting by Fox News Channel's Alan Colmes, in which he offhandedly suggests that Governor Palin brought DS onto hers and Mr. Palin's fifth child, because she didn't go to the hospital immediately after her water broke.

Finally, a liberal finds an unborn child he cares about.

This post is archived, by the way, because after 300 or so replies calling him everything but a white man, and pointing out the frightening flaws in the suggestion, Colmes had the good sense to realize he'd made extraordinary errors in judgment and logic. Some of the replies are worth the trip.

Should this post for some reason become unavailable, email me here, and I'll send the entire page to you.

Future Headline: Giant Baghdad Ferris Wheel Exploded by Godless, Sand Worshiping Heathens

2008-08-27T23:22:00.004-04:00

Current Headline: "Baghdad Plans to Build Giant Ferris Wheel"

BAGHDAD - Iraq is calling on companies to submit designs to build a giant Ferris wheel in Baghdad — the latest in a string of lavish proposals painting the capital as a leisure friendly city.

The Ferris wheel, dubbed the Baghdad Eye, will soar more than 650 feet over the city and feature air-conditioned compartments that would each carry up to 30 passengers, Baghdad municipal spokesman Adel al-Ardawi said Wednesday.

Three possible locations in Baghdad have been selected, but officials are waiting to see what proposals are submitted before picking one, al-Ardawi said, declining to give an estimated construction cost or timeline.

"We hope to attract a great number of customers who will be able to see the whole city and enjoy the restaurants and pools on ground below," he told The Associated Press.

More: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26425911/

The Obajma Hall

2008-08-27T20:00:00.007-04:00

Photographed from a respectful distance, we see the platform from which His Holiness will make his acceptance speech Thursday night. Hopefully with the Soviet National Anthem played gently underneath.

I liked this better the first time, when it was called Atlas Shrugged.

2008-08-26T00:36:00.003-04:00

From The Seasteading Institute:

"What is 'Seasteading'?

"Seasteading means to create permanent dwellings on the ocean - homesteading the high seas. A seastead, like in the picture above, is a structure meant for permanent occupation on the ocean.

"Why would you want to do that?

"Because the world needs a new frontier, a place where those who are dissatisfied with our current civilization can go to build a different (and hopefully better) one."

Et cetera.

TGO Radio Production Notes (Part Two)

2008-08-21T03:18:00.001-04:00

Full test shows were recorded on each of the last two Wednesdays. If it were only up to me, this gross experiment would have ended about 730pm yesterday, at the conclusion of the second test, which was shapeless and horrible. (So bad, in fact, I’ve made no attempt to listen to or edit the finished product.)

I’m willing to allow that my skepticism could, in part, stem from other light duty depressions and general fatigue nearing the end of this long, busy summer. But there was a general unhappiness among the TGO Radio staff at the conclusion of the second test. At that point, Jeff looked across the desk at me and wondered aloud what was missing – everything feels (and sounds) unnatural and forced. We both shook our heads.

As we parted ways I told Jeff to email me his ideas as to the show generally – in all likelihood, the entire format will have to be torn down and rebuilt from the ground, and we’re all going to have to work a lot harder at show prep (that means you, Doug Reacharound, you doughnut eating and champagne drinking bitch) which, frankly, is difficult, given that everything around us (from this awful election down) is insufferably boring.

Still, my being tired of being alive shouldn’t weigh the show down.

As decisions are made, notes will be posted here.

Preview; I.O.U.S.A.

2008-08-19T23:55:00.002-04:00

Screenings all over the country this Thursday. Check the website for details.

TGO Radio Production Notes

2008-08-08T07:59:00.002-04:00

Various test recordings for TGO Radio were conducted on Saturday, 2 August and Wednesday, 6 August. Here are some production notes.

Several pieces of audio have been recorded, ranging in length from five to thirty minutes. The funniest so far was culled from the Wednesday session and is called “Jenna Jameson is Pregnant,” a delightfully pornographic mix of news, speculation as to the size of Jameson’s womanhood, and a playing of the classic Big Dick Blaque segment from Hardcore.

By and large, though, I am terribly torn.

On one hand, the equipment on which we have recorded the tests is brand new and so much better (i.e., faster) than the old set-up. It requires much more fine-tuning than the old set-up, meaning mainly that I’ve spent a lot of time sitting around, pounding shortbread cookies into my fat maw, drinking water and flat Diet Coke, and watching. (This was quite bothersome to me at first, because I’m a control freak, but in the second meeting Wednesday I talked myself out of most of that.)

We now have a tenable system in place for conducting phone interviews – it’s simpler than you’d suspect, but I’m not going to give it away. And it looks as though Jeff and I will both have access to the Interweb during the shows, which was a very hit-and-miss (and one sided, in my direction) proposition three years ago.

But in listening to and editing the clips, I’m hearing problems that, to this point, aren’t being solved. It will seem silly to read, but a small amount of these are corrected when the clips are piped through better speakers (so remember that, if a second season commences), but mostly the objections boil down to two things. One: Whereas during the first season our voices sounded more like we were sitting next to you, there is something flat and tinny about them as recorded on the new equipment.

Two: We are having some problems finding a proper mix between our voices and any ancillary audio played underneath us. Either the underneath stuff is so loud it splits the eardrums, or it is just loud enough to drown us out, or it is so soft we are burying it with casual conversation. These are problems that would require significant editing (including, probably, far too much cutting) to fix in post-production, which is why it’s better to get them settled now.

For the first set of problems I am at a loss. Regarding the second I believe I know how to fix them. Our problem could be that we are straying too significantly from the meat and potatoes method of recording we employed three years ago. Back then, virtually every piece of audio beyond our voices was played using one program. In that case, when we found a level at which to mix this one player, it was left alone to do its job and functioned well.

It seems that this time out we are trying too hard to be too cute. In addition to our voices, which are obviously recorded at a static level, we are seeking out and playing, on the fly, various pieces of audio from sources that employ different sorts of media players, none of which are pre-mixed to our general specifications. In other words, when seeking previously unforeseen clips in the future, we will have to employ a more deliberate method (which, of course, I have devised).

Worse coming to worse, the old recording equipment could very easily be pulled out of retirement and thrown back into service; like a retired battleship. So whatever is wrong with the recording could be fixed, temporarily with the old stuff, while the bugs are worked out of the new system. What could really cripple TGO Radio is our inability to formulate a coherent format. We both agree that the upcoming elections are far too important to ignore, and that the various idiocies of the candidates must be discussed at appropriate length.

On the other hand, neither of us can bypass the opportunity to speculate as to the exact size of Jenna Jameson’s vaginal opening, on account of the five thousand cocks she’s stuffed into that poor, suffering orifice over the many years, when she ends up with child.

There has got to be a way to combine the two things. Dammed if we can figure out what it is.

Um ... TGO Radio?

2008-08-02T22:42:00.006-04:00

Interesting and sudden developments regarding TGO Radio, the Internet radio show that will not die, even though three years have passed since the conclusion of the first (and only) season.

As this is being posted, Jeff, interim producer extraordinaire Doug Reacharound, and your humble correspondent are gathering at an undisclosed location in Northern Indiana to test new wave recording equipment for the first of two new TGO Radio test shows, to be recorded next week. (Former show producer Ron Mexico may be rejoining us someday, and his absence will be explained in due course. In the meantime, Doug will produce these test shows.)

To say anything after this would constitute rumor and conjecture, but I can say with the utmost confidence that frantic equipment testing is underway, wild construction has begun at Camp TGO’s “recording studio" - everything else is in flux. Updates as they warrant.

(Shown below, some of our new wave equipment.)

The Dark Knight / “Summer Vacation” / NYC Essay / The Summer of Dexter

2008-07-21T19:21:00.001-04:00

1) The Dark Knight is two hours of a very good movie, and thirty minutes of a movie that significantly weakens the first two hours. Christian Bale is wooden and unpleasant – like he is in everything else – but absolutely tortures us as Batman. Somewhere along the line, Bale was convinced that in order to play the character with any sort of credibility, he had to sound exactly like Assy McGee. And he ran with it. (Look, I understand it’s an obscure reference. I can only trust you’ll investigate and catch up.)

Where Bale is … himself, Heath Ledger steps in, picks up the ball, and runs the greatest sprint of his acting life. As the Joker, Ledger is literally a joy to watch and hear; I have not one complaint about his performance, but question the sense of timing of the director that allowed Ledger to continue talking straight through two absolutely brilliantly delivered joke lines, no pun intended. (Without ruining the set-ups, those are “Ta-da!” and “You complete me,” the second being the best line of the movie, both of which you will not help but notice.)

There is a clean line of demarcation between the good Dark Knight and the horrible Dark Knight; no intelligent viewer will miss it. Something to do with the savage inability of screenwriters to end a script with the same panache employed early on, and the refusal of studios to step in and say, “All right, goddammit, this doesn’t make any sense.” (See a post somewhere below about how a movie still has to make sense despite a suspension of disbelief.) By all means, enjoy the first two hours, because it really is very good, but if you can, drift off during the last.

2) Technically I haven’t written because I’ve been on “summer vacation.” It tends to begin about the same time every year, when it first gets and stays hot enough to make people miserable. About that time something clicks in my head and I become utterly useless for anything other than finding and having sex. It lasts until something more important comes up – football, for example – and things return to whatever passes for normal. So as far as the column goes, we’ll see you sometime in the next several weeks.

3) The essay detailing my visit to New York City was called “When Both Our Cars Collide,” which right now stands at over 2,000 words, and which I’m not going to bother finishing. See above, and add the fact that not even I can convince myself that anyone in the world gives that much of a fuck about mostly miserable mini-vacations.

4) Besides the typical “summer vacation” activities, I did finally get around to watching Dexter, and dragged my poor cousin down with me – he’s a lot more into it than I am (to the point of having a man crush on the guy who plays Dexter). The first two seasons build to impressive points (especially the second), and even though they somewhat hurry through the last episodes of each season, Showtime has me interested enough in the third season to dread its being two months away.

Column: "The Oil No-Brainer"

2008-06-20T08:37:00.000-04:00

Friday, 20 June 2008
633 words

The last time oil and gasoline consumption were covered in this space was four years ago, when a gallon of gas was selling for two dollars twelve cents and Americans were out of their minds from righteous indignation. The more outraged among us were scheduling fruitless boycotts, mass-forwarding barely readable, thirteenth generation conspiracy theory emails, and screaming at the top of their lungs about how little the Bush administration was doing to stem the tide. But as was concluded here at the time, “… if the goal [of protests] is to make a financial statement, then conservation at and beyond the gas pump should be your first consideration, and will be your best bet.”

Reader reaction back then often said that conservation was beside the point; some of the objections were so long and twisted the Unabomber was seen convulsing with jealousy. Most lost upon the majority of those doing the screaming was the concept of conservation beyond the gas pump – if you really wanted to move as freely in 2004 as you did in 2001, and your finances didn’t otherwise allow it, sacrifices would have to be made. Sacrifice is not part of the modern American character. The thought seemed to be that prices should just be lower, even if they achieved at the point of a bayonet. Anything except using less.

We needn’t wonder whatever became of those radical nonconformists. Once gas prices started looking and feeling more European, the radicals did what they should have been doing in the first place. The Department of Transportation reports that between November 2007 and April 2008, Americans drove thirty billion fewer miles than normal, the biggest decline since the late 1970s, which is encouraging, but much too late to make any real difference, as we see.

Substitute hosting Glenn Beck’s television show Thursday, Michael Graham asked a question that didn’t get nearly the attention it deserved: If there were suddenly a mass shortage of bread, someone in a position of authority would say, “Make more bread,” and that would be that. Why isn’t this the case with oil? Putting aside the obvious regulatory gymnastics and ideological entanglements that stymie any such process: If you started building the appropriate infrastructure fifty miles off the Florida coast today, five to ten years would pass before a drop of that oil would be available for consumption. Obviously this is a process that should have gotten underway many years ago.

The Left’s answer to demands for increased oil drilling is uniformly, “The United States cannot drill its way out of its energy problems.” Actually, yes it can, and could have been doing so for over a decade now if only Bill Clinton had bothered to exercise the prescience we were assured lingered, as if somehow in-born, with the very fabric of his soul. (Or something.) We can’t drill our way out of this problem quickly, which is a turn-off for a country that expects everything to be done with a sort of fast food efficiency. We absolutely can drill out way out eventually, if only certain elements would stand down and allow progress to be made.

Those opposed to new drilling could make a better, more logical, and modern argument if they would accept the reality of the moment and say, Yes, America must be energy independent and must drill for oil of its own, to fulfill its own needs, but it cannot only drill for oil. Concurrently, those insisting only on drilling must also meet the reality of our times. The strides we’ve made toward alternative fuels et cetera must continue, but at this stage it would be unrealistic to say alternative fuels must be the only game in town. More oil is a no-brainer, if only we can muster the moral courage to move forward.

Tim Russert / The Fag Seat / The Incredible Hulk / James Rosen’s The Strong Man / Stay Classy, Liberal Scum

2008-06-18T02:02:00.004-04:00

1) The loss of Tim Russert is as significant a setback to NBC News as I can ever recall, being that he was its smartest host and best interviewer (not to mention a fellow Beloved Buffalo Bills fan). A fervent secular prayer: Please, do not let that Communist, partisan fraud David Gregory ease into the host chair Russert more than capably filled for lo these many years. To promote Gregory would deliver the decapitating blow to a news organization already crippled by its own biases and high-grade inaptitude. Let not that awful network destroy what Tim Russert and his brilliant staff maintained so magnificently. Amen.

2) Friday night at the movies with my son; a sort of last minute development having mainly to do with international conspiracies and grain prices. One row ahead of where we sat, and to our left, sat a group of teenage boys who, despite their floppy, effeminate haircuts and jaunty halloos throughout the fucking aisle, wanted so badly to convince potential onlookers they weren’t queer that they instituted an empty seat between each of them. Apparently, their way of proving their stark raving heterosexuality was to lean way over to talk into each other’s ears during the movie, in a fashion that appeared so blatantly gay I thought of throwing a bottle of Astroglide between the three of them to see if a struggle broke out to determine who would be on bottom first. Well done, new meat.

Back in the day we referred to this gap between seats as the Fag Seat – i.e., “If people see this distance between us, they won’t think we’re gay” – but honestly, I thought the Fag Seat had mostly gone out of style. The last sighting of it at the movies was last year, a space placed between two grown men one row ahead of me; I attributed their arrangement to their NASCAR and Confederate battle flag gear. You know what I’m saying.

But before that, I’d not seen the Fag Seat executed for many years. Spent about fifteen minutes thinking about this…. I need to understand the psychology of someone who believes the Fag Seat settles for eternity the question of their august straightness, about as much as I need to understand the psychology of someone who might see two men sitting together in a movie theatre and automatically assumes they’re lovers.

Anyway, if you can help me out with that, drop me a line. And save all that “societal constructs and its widely held views of homosexuality” bullshit. I’m looking for real, thoughtful analysis here.

3) The movie was The Incredible Hulk, which I enjoyed immensely despite fearing I would hate it immensely.

After spending fifteen minutes thinking about the Fag Seat, I thought of how best to explain my fondness for a movie like The Incredible Hulk while harboring a deep disdain for a critically acclaimed movie such as There Will Be Blood. Though one is tempted to chalk it up to low breeding, the truth is that I long ago developed an equation that translates directly into enjoying a movie. It is:

Despite its plot or genre,
a movie still has to make sense
in order to warrant
proper Suspension of Disbelief.

Now listen: I absolutely am not going to get into longwinded debates with movie dorks as to why There Will Be Blood makes less and less sense as it goes along while The Incredible Hulk remains consistent; they just do. Nor will I debate with anyone the movies I have shitcanned on this blog (e.g., Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, Spider-Man 3, and Transformers, all of which were truly awful films, and in the case of Pirates, among the worst I’ve ever seen). No Country For Old Men is probably the best movie I’ve seen in five years, and won my award for best movie of 2007 in February (before the Oscars, thank you) – it remains consistent, as all great movies must.

Anyways. As a popcorn flick, The Incredible Hulk is pretty good.

4) James Rosen is one of those guys who has spent the majority of his life obsessed by an event (Watergate), and then the better part of two decades researching all or part of that event (in this case, John Mitchell). His wonderful new book, The Strong Man, covers Mitchell’s ascent through Law and the Nixon administration, then precipitous decline, eventually into prison. A link to The Strong Man can be found at the Dot Com, on the front page’s little “Recent Reading” section, on the left hand side.

5) Cornered by the Falafel last week, Laura Ingraham addressed her absence from talk radio …

http://thinkprogress.org/2008/06/13/laura-ingraham-tells-bill-oreilly-shes-been-forced-off-the-air/

… which I link to from Think Progress only because of the lovely, well-intentioned comments immediately following the video. Stay classy, liberal scum.

Column: "Bill Clinton, Vanity Fair, and Old News"

2008-06-06T03:16:00.003-04:00

Thursday, 5 June 2008
620 words

You can’t help but defend Bill Clinton sometimes. For whatever else was wrong with the man (and we’re not to forget there’s still a lot wrong with him, both intellectually and emotionally), there were times throughout the 1990s when his thoughtful opponents had to take his side. No, dammit, Bill Clinton didn’t traffic cocaine as governor, and he didn’t impregnate prostitutes, and he had nothing to do with that list of people who “mysteriously died” during his presidency.

Among principled anti-Clintons (I consider myself one), the thinking has always been that when someone is as psychologically stunted as Bill Clinton, there’s no moral cause in making things up about him. Left to his own devices, he will shoot himself in the foot sooner or later, leaving the critic ample opportunity to explain the wound. As far as that goes, Clinton has long been the gift that keeps on giving.

But these days, Bill Clinton more gives the appearance of a somewhat sad, loosely hinged older uncle who just can’t get out of his own way. Everyone is so familiar with his act that the assertion he has an act feels like a non-event, which in one reason why Todd Purdum’s article “The Comeback ID” (for Vanity Fair) is the most unimportant newsworthy item of the campaign season. Too much of it reads like a town cryer yelling about last week’s news. “Clinton chases women! Clinton pardoned criminals and cronies! Clinton hangs out with shady people!” We know, Todd.

Mayhill Fowler’s thoughtful, unbiased questioning of the former president (“Mr. President, what do you think about that hatchet job somebody did on you on Vanity Fair at the end of the race?”) sets two parameters, the first being that “The Comeback ID” was a hit piece, the second that the timing of its release was meant to benefit the Obama campaign.

To the first allegation I’ll admit a preference for clearly defined distinctions between those who report and those who opine; and the two classes should never cross. Employing this standard, Purdum does lapse into opinion making, though not in any significant way until the last section, entitled “A Solitary Man,” where we start reading passages such as “this is Clinton’s most grievous sin, his steady refusal to take grown-up responsibility for the consequences of his own actions.” The entire section carries on like that, managing to be both offsides and old hat. If speculating after someone’s mental fitness is all that turns a simple, somewhat dull, too-long essay into a hit piece, then we hope for the day Mayhill Fowler will passionately declare that Bush on the Couch ought never have been published.

As to the second point, you’d be hard pressed to prove a conspiracy where a magazine of no consequence posts an article in hopes of somehow disrupting two primaries that were foregone conclusions before the polls opened, in a race that was decided weeks ago but remained an open question only because one of the candidates refused to concede reality. This may feel like a put up job to a Clinton partisan, but so would any piece of media, mentioning either Clinton, that didn’t roughly translate into a marriage proposal.

If the end commentary doesn’t lose you, the sourcing will. There’s an awful lot of “a former longtime aide said” and “four former Clinton aides told me,” all of which would be bad enough if it weren’t eclipsed by Purdum’s extraordinary decision to print Hollywood gossip as background (in the rumor of Clinton and Gina Gershon). Under the hands of a competent editor, “The Comeback ID” would have been far better at half the length. As it reads now, it’s merely a frivolous article about a frivolous man.

Even In My Dreams, Rachel Alexander Isn't Speaking To Me

2008-05-30T09:53:00.002-04:00

A series of pointless updates, for the sake of pointless updating.

1) If you’re one of those people who believed the Iraqi War was about oil, (1) you’re wrong, and (2) just wait. The real war for oil is coming; and it may not involve the United States.

2) Sad to learn that Harvey Korman has died, at 81. One of my all-time favorite comedians. R.I.P.

3) Currently reading Véra (Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov) by Stacy Schiff. Other recent reading includes The Billionaire’s Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace (thumbs up), In the Event of My Untimely Demise by Brian Sack (thumbs up), and Flying High by the late, great William F. Buckley, Jr. (thumbs up).

4) Looks like I’ll be headed back to New York City at the end of June; the 27th through the 30th. In a new effort to keep this blog updated with content different from Dot Com, I’ll be posting daily from the People’s Republic, with pictures and all. Last I was there, there were still World Trade Center towers, so it ought to be an interesting (and exhausting) trip.

5) Question: Why hasn’t the Dot Com (BrianWise.com) been updated? It has. Check it out. Changes were made to the front index page, the column archive page, and the “about the author” page; they’re cleaner and easier to read. Until a few days ago, the program I use to upload files was failing to connect to the server, and I’ve been too busy (and alternately, lazy) to discover and fix the problem. Problem solved. Go nuts.

6) Another question: Where have the columns been? There’s a new one, “Back Alley Conservatism,” below, over at the Dot Com, and featured at all the usual suspects. Have been distracted the last few weeks, between talking to various colleges about enrolling (and have chosen one, but won’t announce which until, and if, it accepts me), preparing a packet of columns to be rejected by Creators Syndicate, the first season of Deadwood, a few books, and the War Between the States (meaning what is popularly called the Civil War).

7) Regarding that packet for Creators Syndicate, keep checking back for a link to the rejection letter. Will probably frame the first form rejection letter, and just keep subsequent editions lying about. I did write a self-deprecating note to go along with the packet, which will be posted here when I think about it.

8) Yet another question: Have you come to a decision regarding a new book? Yes. I don’t think it’s happening this year. Had a lot of fun and interesting ideas, but nothing to which I’d be willing to dedicate two or three years. Will think about it again in January, when I have a better idea as to how much time will taken up by classes, et cetera.

Column: "Back Alley Conservatism"

2008-05-30T00:47:00.001-04:00

Thursday, 29 May 2008
656 words

Four years ago I stumbled across the Libertarian convention on C-Span. It’s hard to take a political party seriously when those who gather to pick its nominee so closely resemble a bar crowd stumbling into a Denny’s at three o’clock in the morning. But there they were, in some hotel conference room, bleating and carrying on randomly as though there were no real format for the proceedings … I lasted about thirty minutes, until the moment someone rose and suggested Howard Stern should be the party’s nominee. That Howard Stern.

Libertarianism is basically conservatism with a few critical departures, those having mainly to do with edifying stoners and tweaking the fancies of terribly unserious people. But for the first time in recent memory, Libertarians have nominated a reasonably serious man, Bob Barr, who in the final analysis could be just enough to the right of John McCain to satisfy disaffected conservatives. A significant thing, since Republicans haven’t bothered with nominating a conservative since 1984.

Jimmy Carter, Walter Mondale, Michael Dukakis, Bill Clinton, Al Gore, John Kerry. Democrats nominate liberals, and will again this year. Yet there is no real disconnect between moderate and liberal Democrats as to the ideological purity of their nominees. In fact, what is passing as unrest between Obama and Clinton supporters boils down to a simple matter of preference: the debate isn’t over who is the better Leftist, if there can be such a thing. It’s over the physical form that Leftist takes.

But ours is a climate where even the most generic of preferences can be stretched and twisted into something “newsworthy.” Polls suggest Obama supporters won’t vote for Clinton is she somehow steals the nomination, and vice versa, if Obama is given the nod. Don’t believe them. It would sting at first, but in the end Democrats will talk themselves into voting for whoever heads their ticket, being that their only reasonable alternatives are John McCain, who will at least masquerade as a Republican and who will have to run to the right if he hopes to win; Bob Barr, who lead the Clinton impeachment crusade in the House; and Ralph Nader, who in no small measure cost Gore the Green the presidency eight years ago. Democrats absolutely will not resist the temptation to bury Republicans in November.

Whatever delight the Right has pulled from the Clinton / Obama mess, it also knows that federal Republicanism (which regrettably is the closest we can get to federal conservatism) runs the very real risk of not only remaining a minority party, but of suffering a blow on the scale of the post-Watergate bloodbath. And in this scenario, electoral conservatism – already relegated to dark corners wherever it lingers in Washington DC – stands only to be consigned to back alleys.

Still, only conservatives mean it when they say they would rather stay home than vote for the likes of John McCain, because the conservative movement is separate from Republicanism. You will never hear a sober liberal say that Democrats deserve to lose elections because their candidates aren’t liberal enough. Not so with conservatives. You will never hear a liberal say that a Republican administration is an acceptable price to pay if the end result is a purer, more liberal administration in the aftermath. Not so with conservatives.

If recent history is a reliable guide, Americans will only stand unrestrained Leftism for so long before lifting Republicans back up as a counterbalance. Democrats are fine as an occasional breath of fresh air, but by their own intellectual and ideological design are prone to suffer squishy backbones and bend to socialist tendencies. Of course, Republicans haven’t been much better these past years, significantly differing from Democrats only in their willingness to find and destroy terrorists, which would be enough if bomb toting heathens were America’s only threat. We await a conservative ascendancy, though the mood of the country seems to be against self-discipline of any sort.

Assorted Little Pieces of News

2008-05-03T08:34:00.009-04:00

One: I have prepared my first packet of columns for submission to Creators Syndicate. They can all be found here and are: "(Jeremiah) Wright Reasoning" from 22 March; "White Guilt and CYA in Eugene, Oregon" from 04 April; "Tibet: This Year's Fashionable Victim" from 10 April; "Ben Stein's Important Movie, Falling Short" from 24 April; and "Campaign '08: Never More Embarrassing?" from 29 April.

Last year, Bernard Goldberg wrote a generous blurb for The Unabrian Manifesto, and today he took a moment from his vacation overseas to grant my request to use the blurb in the cover letter for Creators. He wrote said blurb in full knowledge it would be used at brianWise.com, but this sort of usage is another matter, and I didn't want to proceed without his okay.

In any event, just as soon as Creators sends me the uniform rejection form letter, I'll post it for everyone to see. I expect to be collecting them.

Two: Column writing will continue, in hopes of further streamlining the product and making it more palatable for syndicators. Starting next Thursday, columns will be delivered every Thursday (save randomly chosen "vacation" days). Concurrently, I'll begin looking for three to five high powered affiliates in hopes of expanding exposure.

Three: In the next two to three weeks, I also plan to make announcements on whether another book will be in the works this year, and maybe some other interesting things.

Column: "Campaign '08: Never More Embarrassing?"

2008-04-29T15:47:00.002-04:00

I’ve been thinking about the 1800 presidential election a lot lately. Partly because a book on the subject has been lingering in my consciousness, but mostly because its example has served as a rebuttal whenever someone says this year’s election could become the most contentious in American history. People who say things like that ought first be able to name twenty presidents, and probably even their opponents, before waxing philosophic on the tone of modern elections.

For whatever is wrong with our electoral system, it pales by a dozen shades to what lingered in the air during our country’s infancy, when even the presence of truly great men wasn’t enough to keep things reasonable. Mere historical ignorance cannot account for the belief things “have never been worse” – you have to willfully suspend knowledge of campaigns past. For example: Writing for National Review Online, Kathleen Parker lamented the pre-taped appearances of Senators Clinton, McCain, and Obama on the professional wrestling program Raw and wrote, in all seriousness, “Talkin’ tough never looked sillier – nor a presidential race more embarrassing.” 1

By this reasoning, delivering a few dopey lines on a wrestling show is more intellectually offensive than running on a promise to turn the United States into a military eunuch and hurl it into Canadian style socialism faster than the other candidates. A presidential race never looked more embarrassing? For Parker to write those words straight-faced, she had to conveniently forget that Bill Clinton actually answered the question about his underwear, that Michael Dukakis drove that tank, that Jesse Jackson uttered the phrase “Hymietown,” that John Kerry asked an Ohio shop keep “Can I get me a huntin’ license here?” and that Ron Paul … well, ran for president.

Electoral history is littered with hundreds, and possibly thousands, of examples of this magnitude and much worse, if only you bother to find them, which Parker didn’t, because doing so would have flown in the face of her thesis that professional wrestling is simply beneath people running for high office. (Perhaps not the world’s noblest profession, but no one has ever been able to explain to me how watching professional wrestling is any less of an intellectual drop than watching NASCAR, Survivor, a Miley Cyrus concert, or Countdown with Keith Olbermann.)

Modern candidates must either conform to the times in which they live, or stagger backward to the days of conducting entire campaigns from their front porches. Nearly five million people watched Raw that night including, as the New York Times points out, 1.45 million males between the ages of eighteen and thirty-four.2 You poke fun at yourself on a wrestling show because it humanizes you to the viewers, and perhaps open doors to some voters who otherwise might not have thought about you. An Obama spokesman echoes this sentiment in the same Times piece: “[T]his campaign has been about reaching out to new voters and getting them involved in politics, so it’s important to reach as broad an audience as possible.”

This may be irrelevant to Kathleen Parker who, while admitting the wrestling stuff was harmless fun, turns to wonder why fun should have any place. “Clinton’s [most controversial Pennsylvania primary ad] posed the correct question: Whom are voters going to trust to be commander in chief? In this too-long campaign, in which Hill-Rod, Cookie and Slugger seek to out-cute each other for the connoisseurs of human mauling machines, the answer is increasingly less clear.” Fine, but would you suppose that ambiguity exists because the senators each spent fifteen minutes cutting wrestling promos, or because they’re so much alike it’s virtually impossible to tell whether there are any real differences between them?

1 “Meet Hill-Rod” by Kathleen Parker, last accessed 28 April 2008.
http://article.nationalreview.com/print/?q=ZDRlMDBjYjJlYjZjNTFiZjE4YzM5YWNmOTk0ZjE5NjE=

2 “Better Days, and Even Candidates, Are Coming to W.W.E.” by R.M. Schneiderman, last accessed 28 April 2008.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/28/business/media/28wwe.html?_r=1&oref=slogin&ref=media&pagewanted=print

TGO 7: A Definite Maybe

2008-04-28T18:37:00.007-04:00

Contrary to a previous posting, I neglected to make an announcement last Saturday as to whether another book is in the offing, the simple reason being I’ve yet to make a decision.

Book writing is very long and extremely exhausting business for me, normally one that stretches out over a few years. (Before another writer beat me to the punch topic-wise, I was prepared to lend anywhere from five and seven years to the Lincoln book.) It was during the final stages of The 5 Minutes of Silence (1998) that I suffered a medium-sized nervous breakdown, an incident that always lingers in the back of my mind when book writing becomes a thought. Before saying or doing anything, I must make certain that (1) I am emotionally healthy enough to proceed, which these days includes self-knowledge I’ll not fall back to drinking or pill popping in the process; and (2) that enough time can be logically cut away and put aside for a book, with other important things upcoming.

But something is telling me that if it’s taking this long to decide, than the decision has already been made. More if it develops.

New column Tuesday, if I can get it to work. If not, maybe Wednesday, but it's already an old topic.

Column: "Ben Stein's Important Movie, Falling Short"

2008-04-24T08:04:00.002-04:00

Thursday, 24 April 2006
603 words

Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed begins with stock footage of Germans diving through the barbed wire that was eventually replaced with the Berlin Wall, used to signify the barrier erected between those scientists who swallow Darwinism whole and those who have questions about Man and the planet Earth that Darwinism cannot effectively answer.

“I mean, we basically say it's very hard to believe that something came from nothing and that we don't understand that where gravity came from,” Ben Stein, the movie’s co-writer and star told Glenn Back, “we don't understand where the laws of physics or thermodynamics or fluid motion came from, we don't understand how life came from a mud puddle when there was one that was mud and the next day there was life and then a few billion years later there was man. How did that happen? No Darwinist has ever been able to come close to an explanation.” [1]

Fair enough. But as sure as the Sun will set in the West, we know the broader scientific community has no tolerance for anything other than the strictest adherence to Darwinism (warts and all). So after seeing Expelled I tried to imagine the viewer who wasn’t already aware of the metaphorical wall, who actually was in doubt whether their child would face undue criticism for asking similar questions in a high school or college class, or who wasn’t at least peripherally aware of college professors who were denied tenure, or fired altogether, for raising the question of Intelligent Design. Said another way, I had trouble figuring out why Expelled was made.

Of course, the same could be said for just about every movie hurled into wide release since Gone With the Wind, so perhaps lingering over the “Why?” of things was beside-the-point. Later it occurred to me that “Why?” was an instinctual reaction to disappointment: Stein and company had at their disposal the means to deal a significant intellectual blow to the scientific consensus, but squandered it by insisting on making a modern movie (which is also meant as a broad indictment against contemporary filmmakers).

There is nothing wrong with Expelled that some rewriting and a competent editor couldn’t fix, but because the movie was designed to cut so significantly against the grain, those responsible should have held themselves to a higher standard and thrown the audience more meat. It would have been helpful to hear, “Here is Darwinism as understood and taught, and here is Intelligent Design as advanced.” And to be fair there is some amount of that, but it feels disjointed. Just as your mind whirs to take it in, the film cuts to another position or interview. There is much too much quick editing between these positions and conversations (i.e., modern filmmaking), the end result being that too few arguments are made at sufficient length.

Further distracting is the fact Expelled insists on employing needless animations, little cartoons, dopey songs, and clips from old B movies. They exist to prove various points – and for what it’s worth, does prove them – but too often at the expense of seriousness. About production values Stein has made a point to say Expelled was very expensive to make, as documentaries go, but what good is a large budget when you sacrifice sagacity?

By the time Richard Dawkins admits intelligent design was likely, but denies God as a factor in it, the viewer is less pleased than he should be. And that’s too bad, because with its budget and distribution, Expelled could have dealt a much greater blow to the wall erected around Darwinism. As it is, merely a glancing blow.

[1] Stein interview:

http://www.glennbeck.com/content/articles/article/196/8621/

last accessed 22 April 2008

Half a Column About Barack Obama I Haven't Been Able to Finish.

2008-04-17T22:25:00.002-04:00

When Mel Gibson got drunk, slandered Jews, and sexually harassed cops, we were seeing his true self through alcohol. When Michael Richards responded to some crowd noise in a comedy club by dropping the n-bomb a dozen times, we were seeing his true self through anger. But when Barack Obama said that people who live in small town Pennsylvania cling to xenophobia, God, and guns when in distress, we were seeing … what, exactly? A slip of the tongue? Fatigue? Well, whatever it was, it sure wasn’t elitism, if that’s what you’re thinking.

The remark in question was, in fact, uttered off-script to a roomful of limousine liberals during a private fundraiser held in San Francisco (the People’s Republic by the Bay): “You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for twenty-five years and nothing’s replaced them,” Obama opined. “And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow, these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it’s not surprising then they [the little people] get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them, or anti-immigrant sentiment, or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”

This isn’t exactly a picture of Deliverance he’s painting, but one hears a matter-of-factness in Obama’s voice that suggests he sees middle-Staters sitting on front porches, hocking greenies into spittoons, and belting out that day’s twentieth drunken rendition of “Up Against the Wall Redneck Mother.” Interesting that Obama didn’t think to mention the extraordinary amount of black-on-black violence in Philadelphia, but he wouldn’t have. No one is supposed to draw a comparison between clinging to a gun for emotional support, or whatever he meant, and using one to murder another human being. We are left to suppose there is no bitterness lying underneath manslaughter.

Question: At what point does someone lose connection to the common man? For years the knock against wealthy conservatives (think Rush Limbaugh) has been that as they put distance between themselves and the poor, their perspective regarding struggle must change, because they themselves no longer struggle.

[This is the point where I wrote myself into a corner, from which I haven't been able to retreat for two days. And now that the issue has abated, I - along with the country - have lost interest.]

Some Fun Reactions to "Tibet" Column.

2008-04-12T17:27:00.005-04:00

Ah, it's good to be back in the crosshairs again.... I spent a fair part of Saturday morning answering complaint emails about the column, "Tibet: This Year's Fashionable Victim." It might help if you read the column first, just below, to know what was and what wasn't said. First a few of the complaints themselves, and then my responses, additional commentary in brackets if necessary.

Subject: "Tibet"

From: S Bevilacqua

If the Right has such a problem with Communist China, then why have they sent all of our manufacturing there? Yes, Tibet has always been a trendy annoying cause with the Left and idiot celebrities, but the Right has sunk the ecomony of this country into the toilet, and China has been a big part of that.

Reply: Almost had a good question there. The problem comes in assuming that all corporations are Right-wing and that all conservatives are - what, exactly? - corporatized? Or something similar? The difference is, companies don't exist to provide jobs for Americans; they're in business to turn profits and, where applicable, serve shareholders. To those ends, companies are free to ship their product to just about anywhere if, at the end, it serves financial interests. Do you want to get in the business of telling companies where and with whom they can, well, do business? I don't.

Now if you're trying to say that China finances too much American debt, then I agree with you; if American debt didn't exist to such degrees, that sort of propping up wouldn't be necessary. You're right.

As for regular conservatives - I'm not sure what you're talking about. We've always been against China. You know, on account of all that forced abortion and rolling over student protesters with tanks. And et cetera. Best; brian s. wise

Subject: "American Daily Feedback"

From: big

Really? This oppression started when China forced the monks out of Tibet? Talk about jumping on the bandwagon. You are aware that with the Dalai Lama, there was a caste system in place where the commoners basically served the priest caste? If you don't, you shouldn't be writing an article about it, and if you do know, you've chosen to ignore the fact the the Tibetan people have been oppressed for a long time, but at least the Chinese are bringing in modern technology, although they are trying to leave the native Tibetans out in the cold. The Dalai Lama wants Tibet back because it's better to be king and have your own sovereign nation, not because he cares about the people. Communism.. they're not even communists, what a joke, but clearly a caste system is so superior.

Reply: Try reading the column again; this time, read it for what it says, not for what you think it says, or worse yet, think it should have said. Best; brian s. wise

[If I were to receive a hundred complaint emails, 95 of them would be answered with a reply very similar to this one above, because most often the problem they're having stems from that exact symptom. Of those 95, 93 would let it go. Then you have people like this, who quoted portions of the column and then asked these questions.]

Subject: "American Daily Feedback"

From: chris maze

I have no dog in this fight, but this is probably the stupidest opinion piece I have ever read. [I'm number one! Whoo-hoo!] Are you suggesting using military force against China is a viable option? If not, what are you talking about? Are you suggesting the "free Tibet" movement is a recent "fad"? Are you suggesting the Dalai Lama hasn't sold out American arenas and venues for years? How old are you?

Dude, just read a book or something before you write again. And Communism is old hat. Islamofacism is the new thing for you te be afraid of. China really hasn't been "communist" for a while now, hence the explosion of their markets.

Reply: If this is the stupidest opinion piece you've ever read, why on Earth did you read the whole thing? Well, at least give it one more shot - this time, try reading it for what it says, not for what it doesn't say, or what you want it to say. Best; brian s. wise

Not responding to my questions and a idiotic response. Ok. Dude, you are made for right wing junk pieces. Shit, you'll probably have a book deal before long!

I pray for my country :(

Okay, okay. I'll take them point by point.

1. "Are you suggesting using military force against China is a viable option?" No. Read the column. It's not about force against China. It's about fashionable support for Tibet

2. "If not, what are you talking about?" Not taking advantage of the recent Tibet matter for political gain knowing, as was said in the column. [sic] You can't just talk and reason with China, as they are "closed [minded] on the subject," as was also written. Read the column

3. "Are you suggesting the "free Tibet" movement is a recent "fad"?" No. Read the column. I've downplayed the recent concerns of those who have taken it up as a fad, however, saying in fact that if you give "people four months and a hand-to-hand battle between the Obama and Clinton camps at the Democratic national convention, and they'll go back to ignoring Tibet again." Which will be the case, but I don't expect I'll be hearing from you then

4. "Are you suggesting the Dalai Lama hasn't sold out American arenas and venues for years?" No. But that's not what the column was about. It was about fashionable support for Tibet. Read it, you'll see

5. "How old are you?" Probably old enough to be your father, judging by the way you read, interpret, and write, "dude." Best; brian s. wise

Addendum: Sunday, 13 April @ 619am EST: Saturday at 9.52pm I received this email frm Chris ...

Not ever gonna be good enough for fox asshole :)

Really, you addressed nothing in the context I asked it. That was why I ask in reference to specific quotes. And in 4 months, Democrats will fade away and the Dalai Lama will cease selling out events? History shows you a fool.

Your party is destroyed. They did it to themselves. God knows the Dems didn't have any backbone. This kind of "insightful writing" is done. Reality always wins. Enjoy obscurity bro. And don't burn yourself on the fryer at work :)

Peace dude

And then this one, at 12.56am Sunday.

Nevermind bro. I just read your site :)

Keep up the good work. Destroy the party. Drive people away from your bullshit in droves. Kill your party from the inside. Great work you half illiterate joke.

Well, by the time we get to this point, I've lost another fan. Incidentally, Chris Maze is from Seattle, Washington, which explains quite a bit. Here's his email address: boomaze@gmail.com.

One of the mentions of the "Tibet" column can be found here, described (correctly) by Rob Peters as follows: "Meanwhile, writer Brian Wise calls Tibet 'this year's fashionable victim,' and chastises protesters who seem to care about Tibet only when its cool." He's reading the exact same column as Chris Maze, except he understands it.

Incidentally, a note for Chris Haze: I am enjoying obscurity, thank you, and they give us special elbow length rubber gloves so that we don't burn ourselves. Not everyone writes to get themselves published or on television, you know.

Second Addendum: Sunday, 13 April @ 5.52pm. Things with Chris have now digressed into name calling and obscenity, which means we're probably both having a great time.

Column: "Tibet: This Year's Fashionable Victim"

2008-04-10T09:54:00.000-04:00

Thursday, 10 April 2008 - 609 words.

Those on the Left suddenly outraged about the treatment of Tibet by China may now, finally, understand the Right’s longstanding problem with Communism. Congratulations. Above and beyond this, one struggles to learn what all the shouting is about. Yes, Tibet remains under Chinese oppression. But other than the small (and rightfully dedicated) Free Tibet movementeers and gatherings of college kids scattered hither and yon, no one bothers to think about Tibet except when it’s fashionable, like now; the oppression it experiences today is substantively no different than it was ten years ago, or twenty years before that. Which in no way excuses the oppression, but does go to show that no one’s forced servitude is above exploitation in an election year.

This willingness to exploit explains Senator Clinton’s abrupt insistence that President Bush not attend the opening ceremonies of the Red Olympics. “The violent clashes in Tibet and the failure of the Chinese government to use its full leverage with Sudan to stop the genocide in Darfur are opportunities for Presidential leadership,” Senator Clinton “wrote” on her campaign blog Tuesday. “These events underscore why I believe the Bush administration has been wrong to downplay human rights in its policy toward China. At this time, and in light of recent events, I believe President Bush should not plan on attending the opening ceremonies in Beijing, absent major changes by the Chinese government.” [i]

By “downplay human rights in its policy toward China,” does Senator Clinton mean to suggest the president has neglected the matter entirely (which he hasn’t), or that he hasn’t been insistent enough on the question of human rights? Well, firstly, George W. Bush has never taken a meeting with the architect of China’s one child policy – i.e., the forced abortion policy – as First Lady Clinton did. Secondly, it would help to know exactly how insistent she thinks the president should be, knowing not only China’s closed mindedness on the subject (only America stands still for scolding) but also the Democratic party’s general aversion to force. This is the sort of thinking that could lead one to conclude Senator Clinton is merely hopping on the latest bandwagon, ridden for the sake of political expediency, as opposed to her taking a stance rooted in conviction.

As victims of oppression go, Tibet and Darfur are more interesting than most: China is directly responsible for misery in Tibet and peripherally responsible for misery in Darfur, in that it exercises influence over Sudan but refuses to put its foot down. Generally speaking, China is a threat to world stability and American financial security.

But China provides no less misery for Tibet and Darfur today than Saddam Hussein did for Iraq in 2002; the difference being that virtually no one is really interested in helping them end their collective suffering. (Or as Mark Steyn writes in America Alone: “Everyone’s for a free Tibet, but no one’s for freeing Tibet.” [ii]) Because of this, the Tibet protests are merely fashionable at the roots, despite being somewhat intellectually viable at the outside edges. Give people four months and a hand-to-hand battle between the Obama and Clinton camps at the Democratic national convention, and they’ll go back to ignoring Tibet again.

By the way, just because Senator Clinton is exploiting Tibet doesn’t mean she’s wrong – even a broken clock is right twice a day. Nothing is gained through appeasement of Communists except happy Communists. When all is done, President Bush will sit through the opening ceremonies, maybe a few events, and then come home, never minding whether his attending lends legitimacy to a Games that are functionally no different than Berlin in 1936 and Moscow in 1980.

[i] http://blog.hillaryclinton.com/blog/main/2008/04/07/174152; accessed 08 April 2008.

[ii] Page 132 in the hardcover edition.

Notes Re: Past Column Re-Editing / Book Announcement

2008-04-08T16:51:00.001-04:00

1) Recently a grammatically bothersome sentence in the column “For the Corporation” was pointed out to me, to which I responded (honestly) that since thirteen people read the column, I don’t much give a damn about those sorts of errors.

Moreover, given the way “In Dissent” columns take shape – over a period of eight to twelve (or more) hours sometimes covering a few days, being re-written, spot-edited, cut, pasted, changed, re-arranged, and finally edited one last time (often with tired eyes) before being posted – it’s a wonder every single paragraph of every single column isn’t absolutely riddled with grievous errors, grammatical and otherwise.

But the complainer was getting to a broader point, which she didn’t exactly voice: errors of that sort oughtn’t be allowed to stand, intellectually, as insults to a language she knows I love. So I have given the 2008 columns a decent going-over and have reposted them here, as well as Brian Wise dot com. (As for the few other places “In Dissent” is seen, I’m not sure about getting them changed; Newsvine may just be a matter of going in and changing them manually, cf. this blog, but as of this writing I haven’t checked.)

The best I can think to say is that my work hasn’t, for a long time, been important enough to justify a private editor, and that affiliate editors only seem to scan the pieces for something “offensive,” as opposed to actually editing them and keeping in touch with their content providers. Things slip through the cracks. But at the end of the day, I remain the Harry Truman of the opinionated Right: The buck stops here.

Piggybacking that, either this blog or the dot com will offer authoritative versions of every column or essay that leaves this desk, and if worse comes to worse, send email to brianwisedotcom@gmail.com and see if you can get my attention.

Addendum: Thursday, 10 April 2008 @ 4.11pm EST: Newsvine columns have been re-edited and re-posted, as of now.

2) If I am going to write another book, the announcement will be made here and on the dot com on Saturday, 26 April.

Column: "White Guilt and CYA in Eugene, Oregon"

2008-04-03T18:05:00.003-04:00

For Friday, 04 April 2008 - 606 words.

Of the nearly 154,000 people who live in Eugene, Oregon, only two percent are black. (Scatter that sort of ethnic disparity through Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and some people will call it isolationist and racist, but never mind.) But Eugene wouldn’t want to give the impression its White Guilt isn’t as palpable as the next decently sized liberal town. So in advance of the track and field championships being held their in July, for which as many as sixty percent of the athletes and coaches will be black, Eugene ’08 (the organizational wing of the events) decided to educate Whitey on the subtle intricacies of dealing with black people by putting its two thousand volunteers through diversity training.

The first volunteer newsletter says that Eugene ’08 “will provide mandatory orientation and training sessions to ensure that you are equipped with any information that is relevant to your position and the event.” That was in January; only recently was it announced that diversity training is part of the orientation. What exactly does Eugene ’08 think is going to happen without the training, that its staff of mostly white volunteers is going to cast glances at blacks and out of sudden panic break into choruses of “Mammy”?

Probably not; but that doesn’t mean white volunteers should – and these are not exaggerations for dramatic effect – start using black slang in attempts to relate to blacks, or not be able to answer questions such as, “If I’m black, where do I get my hair done?” If you really want to know what liberals think of black people, notice how they talk about them when they think no one else is paying attention: “If I’m black, where do I get my hair done?” is a question that itself smacks of a generic bigotry – you’re just assuming that blacks are going to hit the city limits and make getting their hair done a top priority. Based upon what, exactly?

In creating the illusion of widespread opposition to the plan, local CBS affiliate KVAL cited only a dumb sounding email (meant to suggest general ignorance among the resistance, you see), spending the remainder quoting people who think this is just a swell idea. Chamber of Commerce President Dave Hauser: "I think as a community we've adopted the attitude that there's no way to over prepare for the Olympic Trials.” Then you’d better get to constructing and staffing some black barbershops, Hauser, because only about 3,100 blacks live in Eugene now – whatever facilities exist for that purpose today aren’t going to get it done come July.

Now to be fair, the KVAL article mentions that “If I’m handicapped, where can I park closest to the field?” might also be asked, but you’d be hard pressed to explain how answering that question will be any more complicated than saying, “Just follow the signs to your left, sir.” Handicapped parking is at least relevant to the volunteer’s “position and the event” … giving a black patron directions to a barbershop is not only outside that purview, but it’s also somewhat remarkable in how it insults and panders.

As with most racial head scratchers, there is a large amount of CYA in all this – Eugene knows it will take only one horribly dissatisfied black patron to make life miserable for the city. Let one volunteer be a little too dismissive to the wrong question and the next thing you know, Al Sharpton and a throng of news cameras will be crowding the steps outside City Hall. Fair enough. But why sell it as “there’s no way to over prepare” when you’re only trying to avoid headaches?

Another New Column: "For the Corporation"

2008-03-26T15:20:00.004-04:00

Wednesday, 26 march 2008 - 637 words

Bill Maher said something interesting last week, which by itself is newsworthy because Maher tends to bypass interesting and linger somewhere between thoughtless reaction, easy joke-getting, and provocation. Asked by Chris Matthews to lend his vast military experience to the Iraqi War on its fifth anniversary, talk eventually got around to Senator Obama’s Pivotal Speech About Race. Say, Bill, isn’t Barack dreamy?

“I thought it was great that Barack Obama, in the speech, made the point that you [meaning “little people”] are not being kept down by the immigrants or the black guy,” Maher said. “That is not who is your problem. Your problem is the corporation, the greedy corporation and those people who – who put politicians in office, who do the bidding of those corporations, who rapaciously plunder the workers’ pensions, who take their jobs overseas and so forth. That is the real problem.” [i]

It would be interesting to know what corporations Maher is talking about; if he knows of companies that are uniformly plundering the pensions of its employees, he’d do better to reach out to the Feds than blabbering about it to Chris Matthews. For the time being we’ll assume he knows of none and additionally forego the obvious question of whether, in Maher’s view, it’s better for environmentalists, trial lawyers, and George Soros to put politicians into office, taking the opportunity instead to discuss corporations as a modern ideal.

The Left uses “Corporations” as a derisive term, in much the same way it puts Big in front of things it doesn’t like or understand (e.g., Big Tobacco, Big Oil, Big Fast Food). Not necessarily because they’re bad companies (though some certainly are), and not because they’re shortchanging shareholders, but because they’ve committed the cardinal sin of not behaving to the Left’s exact specifications (Wal-Mart), or because they’ve had the nerve to win the same sorts of no bid contracts as during previous administrations (Halliburton), furthermore having the insolence to provide the services contracted to provide.

Granted there is something serious to be said about instances of corruption and over-charging, but I for one find it impossible to believe that anyone who stands stoic while a government spends four trillion dollars really gives much of a damn about over-charging for corn, or whatever it was. (You’ll find that Big Government is the only Big the Left supports without reservation.) More likely the Left's contempt for King Hal is Cheney related than it actually understands what happens there.

When your basic philosophical tenet is “From each of his own, to each of his own,” it’s going to be hard to understand how and why corporations work, which is why liberals are so vexed by the idea of jobs being moved overseas. Here the conservative takes a split: Of course something awful happens whenever an American loses a job, but there isn’t a Right-winger worth his salt who doesn’t take the Kudlow Creed imminently more seriously than its Communist counterpart. [ii]

Corporations aren’t in business to provide jobs. They’re in business to turn profit and, where applicable, serve shareholders. To the degree any large company is a “good citizen,” it becomes one against its own self-interest, tolerating repetitive regulation, over-regulation, and prohibitive rates of taxation. The Left’s answer to ExxonMobil turning record profits was not to dig into its quarterly filing and take note of how much of that profit will be pumped back into its own infrastructure, or how much will be dedicated to R and D, or what the company means by R and D, or the dividend it will pay its shareholders. Its first reaction was to read the top line and wonder how much more they can pilfer. Which is fine if you want to be France by 2015, not so great if you continue to hope capitalism will work its magic.

[i] Hardball, 19 March 2008; http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23725038/; last accessed 23 March 2008.

[ii] The Kudlow Creed: “I believe free market capitalism is the best path to prosperity.”

New Column: "(Jeremiah) Wright Reasoning"

2008-03-22T14:07:00.003-04:00

Saturday, 22 March 2008 - 701 words

Always better for the interested observer to read Barack Obama’s speeches as opposed to watching or listening to them. As is designed, the mind tends to wander when he speaks, so distracted by his masterful delivery that the substance of his remarks, provided there is any substance, becomes irrelevant. When foregoing essence, Obama can be expected to offer creepy neo-socialism, petty vagaries, and / or various renditions of “Aren’t you wonderful for being so open-minded as to vote for a black man?”

Unfortunately for Senator Obama, no one was particularly interested in last Tuesday’s broad-brushed simplifications of slavery at the time of the Constitution’s writing, or a generic rehashing of his books. (“I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas.” We know, we know.) All we wanted to hear about was Jeremiah Wright, and whether Obama would take the occasion as his opportunity to fashion his very own Sister Souljah Moment.

Not quite. Senator Obama chose instead to walk an intellectual tightrope: Racism is horrible and oughtn’t be tolerated (check); so much so that even his own grandmother, who is still alive, is fodder for an embarrassing public backhanding (gee whiz, really?); but even though Wright should be condemned, “in unequivocal terms,” it’s important to know that his displays of overt racism and paranoia are part of a bigger black religious experience. Or something. “The church [Trinity United] contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.”

Are kindness, cruelty, intelligence, and ignorance unique only to the black experience, or do they also have bearing on the white experience? If they do indeed have some bearing, shouldn’t large pockets of white racism and suspicion be excused on the grounds that sometimes dignity escapes us, as it did so often for Reverend Wright?

We know now that Obama’s white grandmother has 1) fretted over young blacks on the street, and 2) made minorities the subject of some backward comments. Well, on the first count, so has Jesse Jackson (“There is nothing more painful to me at this stage in my life than to walk down the street and hear footsteps and start thinking about robbery and then look around and see somebody white and feel relieved”[i]), but don’t hold your breath waiting for Obama to throw him under a bus. On the second count, it would be interesting to know whether White Grandma’s comments were as sand-poundingly idiotic as Reverend Wright’s greatest hits, as opposed to simply being ignorant.

Senator Obama’s point was that he can no sooner divorce himself from Wright than he can his grandmother, which seems a stunning lack of tenacity for someone who thinks he can handle our enemies better than George W. Bush has handled them. Geraldine Ferraro’s latest salvo against the Obama campaign was to essentially say, Look, he can mention me in his little speeches all he wants, but Barack Obama’s continued association with Wright only brings his judgment into further question. You’d be hard pressed to prove she’s wrong.

Anyway, the problem with Wright’s reasoning isn’t necessarily that he’s anti-America; he’s barely indistinguishable from the rest of the liberal Left, as far as that goes. The problem is that what passes for his thinking only seems to draw one half of a circle; add the other half and his arguments become … well … circular. If God would damn America, in the form of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, for Hiroshima and Nagasaki, then who’s to say Hiroshima and Nagasaki weren’t God’s punishment for Pearl Harbor?

And why would God damn America for “treating [its] citizens as less than human” when the closest we come to enslaving people these days is through the income tax? Wouldn’t God have been better to damn James Buchanan’s America, or Franklin Roosevelt’s America for interring Japanese, or Hitler’s Germany for its concentration camps, or the Soviet Union for the Gulag? Wouldn’t it be safer (and smarter) to speculate that the War Between the States and the Second World War accounted just fine for God’s punishment?

[i] Juan Williams, Enough, page 110 in the hardback edition.

Essay: Last Words on William F. Buckley, Jr., 1925 -2008

2008-03-18T19:44:00.005-04:00

Wednesday, 19 March 2008 - 1,767 words.

At the time of this posting, William F. Buckley, Jr. has been dead for three weeks. At first planning to write or say nothing to mark the occasion, I did finally begin taking notes and reflecting at significant length after two weeks, finally deciding a few days ago to string them all into a series of disjointed thoughts, as some tribute to my literary hero.

* * *

In the weeks before a website called IntellectualConservative.com launched the “In Dissent” column (it was called “For the Record” then), the site’s editor posted a teaser. Its exact wording has escaped me over the years, but the upshot was, “If you love William F. Buckley, Jr., you’ll love Brian S. Wise,” which was (and in large measure remains) as thrilling and frightening a compliment as has ever been bestowed upon a failed newspaper columnist who had someone managed to fool a few people into thinking he was smart.

How many commentators, would you guess, have been placed at the back end of that association over the years since God and Man at Yale? And how many have been called, or thought themselves, the logical successor to the Buckley legacy? But succession was a lost cause. William F. Buckley, Jr. was the literary equivalent of Johnny Carson: every pretender who rose to claim the throne seemed to forget that the ideal man was already sitting there, and eventually every aspirant collapsed under the weight of someone’s expectations. Every time the smoke cleared, there was Buckley, standing alone. And it was right.

Of course it takes some doing to live up to that sort of hype, and so that first column was about Buddy, the Clinton’s First Dog, which had just been hit by a car and killed. (The upshot: It wasn’t newsworthy … but fine for a column, one supposes.)

Yes, well. Let’s just say it took some time to hit my stride.

* * * * *

Let’s also say that you knew nothing of Mr. Buckley’s work before he died but have since decided to build as comprehensive a collection of his work as possible; books, columns, interviews, speeches, debates, articles, obituaries, commentaries, television appearances, “Notes and Asides” sections from National Review, et cetera. That means you will have to purchase fifty-four books – I’ve counted, but confess to occasional fallibility – written and published between 1951 and 2008, including one on Barry Goldwater being released this Spring, and “at least five” others if you include those he edited.

His columns, numbering more than 5,600 and published between 1962 and 2008, contain more than 4.5 million words, which, if published in their entirety, would “fill 45 more medium-sized books." You can collect the vast majority of the columns (and why not?!), and so many of his articles, thanks to archives maintained by National Review Online and, to a much greater extent, Hillsdale College, which makes over 8,300 pieces available to the public online.

This is to say nothing of the 1,504 episodes of Firing Line taped and broadcast between 1966 and 1999, impeccably cared for and catalogued by the Hoover Institution. Some are available for purchase on VHS, but at $45 a pop. (A comparatively small number are available for free viewing.) It would be far more time consuming to assemble the “Notes and Asides” columns, published in National Review between 1967 and 2005. Of course you would need access to a large, metropolitan or college library, and Lord only knows how many dimes you’d need for the copy machine.

Also troublesome would be his speeches, beginning (we’ll say charitably) with his first address to the Yale Political Union in 1946 and concluding with his last speech, also to the Yale Political Union, sixty years later, in 2006. To make it somewhat easier on yourself, start with Let Us Talk of Many Things (a book of collected speeches, released in 2000) and work your way forward filling in the gaps.

And while you’re it, you may as well drop Yale a line and ask if the collected Buckley papers are available for perusal. Together they weigh seven tons.

Now you see not only the enormity of your task but also have some idea about the furious pace with which Mr. Buckley set about changing the tenor of American politics; never mind the television appearances, interviews, debates, book reviews, and whatever else. Christopher Hitchens put it best in his piece for The Weekly Standard: “The late William F. Buckley Jr. was a man of incessant labor and productivity, with a slight allowance made for that saving capacity for making it appear easy. But he was driven, all right, and restless, and never allowed himself much ease on his own account. There was never a moment, after taping some session at Firing Line, where mere recourse to some local joint was in prospect. He was always just about to be late for the next plane, or column, or speech, or debate. Except that he was never late, until Wednesday [27 February].”

* * * * *

First word of Mr. Buckley’s death hit National Review Online via a brief posting at The Corner, by Kathryn Jean Lopez: “I’m devastated to report that our dear friend, mentor, leader, and founder William F. Buckley, Jr., died this morning in his study in Stanford, Connecticut. He died while at work; if he had been given a choice on how to depart this world, I suspect that would have been exactly it. At home, still devoted to the war of ideas.”

As obituaries and tributes mounted, the tidbit about Mr. Buckley dying at his desk took on a life of its own. In its obituary (in the poorly edited first draft and the corrected second), the New York Times wrote in the second paragraph, “He was found at his desk in the study of his home, his son [Christopher] said. ‘He might have been working on a column,’ Mr. Buckley said.” Reuters, second paragraph: “Buckley suffered from emphysema over the past year and died early on Wednesday while writing in his study in Stanford, Connecticut….” The Associated Press, first paragraph: “William F. Buckley died at work, in his study.” So on and so on.

Some may be confused as to the relevance of that datum, but it very much warranted mention. For writers, more than any other group of people, there is just something romantic and majestic about dying with their boots on. It speaks not only to the character of the man (to soldier on while clearly so unwell) but the personal meaning of his mission. All writers – and by “writer” I mean someone who is compelled to manage words by a force they cannot understand – hope to die as Mr. Buckley died: At home, hip deep in words, perhaps sensing that something more severe than normal is amiss but hoping beyond hope there is enough time to finish the next sentence, and then the next paragraph, and then, God willing, the next chapter….

* * * * *

“Stories told over the last week by writers who knew Bill Buckley have had their effect on those who didn’t,” Anthony R. Dolan wrote for National Review Online. “Among the affected is a young and exceedingly bright conservative who raised with me the question of whether some of the pieces wouldn’t have been better off with more on the great man himself and a little less on the authors and what they said, discussed, or did with the great man.” Dolan’s response: “Hard to do." Every conservative had Their Buckley, by which I mean that Mr. Buckley became something different and personal to whoever found themselves enamored. Here, reflections of My Buckley.

Literally the first words I ever read by William F. Buckley, Jr. were these, in mid-1993, from a column dated 10 April 1990: “The point, then, is that women who go to an abortionist, or who procreate illegitimate births, are not the best judges of right and wrong, even if society agreed that they should in their own situation be the executors of the critical decision, whether to give birth or to abort.”

This is quite the one-two punch, because when properly considered it forces one to confront his biases. Being the young liberal, about ten minutes had to pass for me to completely hash out Mr. Buckley’s argument. How many girls had I known to routinely engage in reckless sexual behavior without bothering to protect themselves, and how many ended up suffering the (physical, emotional, and financial) slings and arrows of abortion clinics when, for a mere fraction of the cost, they could have purchased birth control pills, or condoms? (It didn’t occur to me they oughtn’t have had sex in the first place, as it had never before that point.) By the time I’d conceded he was right, I’d further decided to give Mr. Buckley a chance.

In September 1993 I purchased Happy Days Were Here Again, which took five weeks to read. His every point of contention with liberalism was thought through to what seemed its logical conclusion. Even though I ultimately disagreed with him on several points (interpret that as a youthful devotion to an ideology crafted by and for teenagers; points of contention today could be counted on one hard), learning was taking place, slowly but surely. If this was Republicanism, then I had horribly misunderstood it – but most liberals do.

Other conservative columnists, also masters of their craft, were eventually brought into the intellectual fray, but at the fore of my creeping change were William F. Buckley, Jr. and National Review. Eventually I awoke from what felt like a dead sleep, feeling forced to unburden myself of this new understanding. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote; in total, four awful little books, a lovely fifth book of collected work, and a few hundred passable columns before finally slowing to a crawl in mid-2005. After eleven-and-a-half years as a writer (eight as a columnist), the writing had become repetitive and stale. There was nothing new to say.

Of course, by the time Mr. Buckley had entered his twelfth year as a writer, it was … 1963.

The standard by which a man judges himself should be greater than he thinks is manageable; that way he’s always struggling to become better. In that respect, I’ve let Mr. Buckley down. As my gift wilted, Mr. Buckley eased into his 80s, carrying on with book and column writing even after Mrs. Buckley died and he became sick. To the degree any of us can advance a rational, modern conservatism, we owe him everything for clearing and maintaining a path. A world without William F. Buckley, Jr. is a world significantly less worthwhile.

Greg Gutfeld Also Understands Eliot Spitzer, in Another Way

2008-03-12T18:19:00.002-04:00

From Red Eye, 3am Wednesday morning, 12 March.

"Spitzer: Victim of Ugly, Rich Guy Syndrome"

What can Elliot Spitzer do to save himself? He needs to be honest.

Fact is, he's an ugly dork. He spent his young adult life saddled with a goofy frame, which served as a pedestal for a face that gives children nightmares. And that's why he ended up where is he today.

Instead of picking up chicks, he picked up books. He scored an amazing 1590 on the SAT exam and went to Princeton, where he was elected chairman of the student government. Then he nailed a perfect score on the LSAT and went on to Harvard Law. He got married and had kids.

But something was missing and that was something was called "getting your freak on."

But now as governor of New York he has power. And so he fell victim to "Ugly Rich Guy Disorder" — otherwise known as Bill Maher Syndrome — in which a dorky guy desperately tries to make up for lost time by having as much sex as possible.

Mahr, no lady killer when obscure, practically lives at the Playboy mansion now. Spitzer would have done the same, if he didn't have to be so discreet — hence, the whores.

So how does Spitzer get out of this? By getting other ugly rich guys to back him. If he just says, "Look, I'm not an attractive guy. I didn't get laid in high school," then wealthy nerds across the country will rise up to defend him, led by Jeremy Piven, I hope.

And if you disagree with me, then you sir are worse than Hitler.

Column: "Understanding Eliot Spitzer"

2008-03-12T17:56:00.003-04:00

Blogging beneath you? Understood. Read "In Dissent" at BrianWise.com by clicking here; Newsvine.com here; this column at same by clicking here; or at The Reality Check here; or at American Daily here.

Tuesday, 11 March 2008 - 697 words

Lord only knows how David Eigen, author of something called Men: The Gods of Love, was invited to appear split-screened with Anderson Cooper Monday night, but he was, and proceeded to explain, in world record time, how he thought Eliot Spitzer’s tendency toward whoring was a function of his being an emotionally overwrought, thoroughly modern man. “I think the governor is guilty of having a situation where he’s just not been able to express himself and probably doesn’t know how. And, you know, there’s no question men have a huge sex drive, which really is a replacement for all the other needs they have. And he just found himself in a place where this – he just needed to go outside of that relationship.”

Continued Eigen, “I’m not excusing it. [Really?!] I’m just saying, you know, this is where men have been caught in an actual situation where they’re not allowed to have feelings. So, it becomes – everything becomes about sex. And that’s what the problem is here. Men need to be allowed to have feelings, be allowed to say, hey, you know, I had a bad day at the office and I need a hug. I need to tell you how I feel downtrodden or how it’s too much for me.” (Not even Cooper, CNN’s resident feminized oh-dear, was buying this nonsense. “Well, I mean, it seems like we're going very far down the road of speculation. We don't really know what their relationship is like or what's going on in his family's life.”)

Other than Lawrence O’Donnell’s wondering why the FBI was investigating the case at all (on Live with Dan Abrams, which I watched so you wouldn’t have to), Eigen’s “analysis” set Monday’s high water mark for televised pointlessness. Oprah may have nodded in solemn agreement, but she would. This sort of asininity fails to explain how Spitzer’s having a bad day at the office would really, logically, translate to dropping $4,300 for four hours worth of whore-mongering, other than the fact it just would, because that apparently is how men behave when they need a hug.

Writing for FoxNews.com Tuesday, someone called Yvonne Fulbright (irritatingly branded a “sexpert”) came closer than anyone to getting it right, but shot herself in the foot by stopping first to insult Silda Spitzer. “When I first heard about the Eliot Spitzer scandal, I immediately wondered what’s not going on in Spitzer’s marital bed. After all, when your average married man goes to a prostitute, it’s often because he’s sexually dissatisfied of sexually deviant.” In other words, her fallback position was to wonder how this was Mrs. Spitzer’s fault. We anxiously await Fulbright’s next column, where she will hopefully explain how every other female victim in America’s long, illustrious existence also had it coming.

Despite this inanity, Fulbright strikes the right chord here, but pulls up short: “Research shows that people consumed with power experience an adrenaline rush. This helps to explain why some people are willing to push the envelope – and why someone like Spitzer may have been unable to control himself.” (This comes precariously close to the Twinkie Defense, but with vaginas.) The next point should have been that even though children are expected to have trouble controlling themselves, adults are expected to rise to a higher standard of decorum, precisely because they have lifetimes of experience at their backs. Adults are supposed to know better than this.

Eliot Spitzer’s problem is that he likes to have sex with strange women, and the odds are slim to none that this is a new character flaw. This should seem obvious to anyone not attempting to pawn the intellectual equivalent of snake oil, or for those not bowing to political correctness during prime time. We tend to assume a man can fill his brain with Dr. Phil’s “homey witticisms about relationships,” or something similar, and call it self-awareness, but at the end a man has to know himself. No amount of masking (say, through marriage and child rearing) will calm the desires he, as a man elected to uphold the laws of New York State, should want to control. And until you understand that, you cannot understand Eliot Spitzer.

Sources:
David Eigen on Anderson Cooper 360, 10 March 2008 broadcast; accessed Tuesday, 11 March.
http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0803/10/acd.01.html

FoxNews.com: “Power and Prostitutes: Why Powerful Men Can’t Help Themselves” by Yvonne K. Fulbright; accessed Tuesday, 11 March.
http://www.foxnews.com/printer_friendly_story/0,3566,336837,00.html

William F. Buckley, Jr., R.I.P.

2008-02-27T19:44:00.002-05:00

2007 TGO Awards

2008-02-13T15:16:00.002-05:00

Motion Picture of the Year, 2007: No Country for Old Men, directed by Joel and Ethen Coen; Robert Graf and Mark Roybal executive producers, Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, and Scott Rudin producers.

Album of the Year, 2007: Back to Black by Amy Winehouse.

Song of the Year, 2007: "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse.

Television Show of the Year, 2007: The War (PBS).

Man Card: Kevin Everett (tight end, Buffalo Bills). Everett suffered a fracture to his cervical spine during a game against the Denver Broncos; with quick and well-thought medical attention, Everett was able to undergo surgery, and rehab, and walk to join NFL commissioner Paul Goodell at Super Bowl XLII in Glendale, Arizona.

Worst Song of the Year, 2007: "Lip Gloss" by Lil Mama is what an abortion would sound like if you set it to music.

Column: "Hillary Clinton v. The Clinton Skeptic"

2008-01-10T18:54:00.002-05:00

Friday, 11 January 2008 - 802 words

On the one hand, one cannot rightly blame Hillary Clinton for her mini-breakdown in New Hampshire. For almost as long as she’s been a candidate for president, Senator Clinton has gone substantively unchallenged and remained a dominant frontrunner, cherished by her party and throngs of strangers everywhere she spoke.

Then came Iowa and the shellacking at the hands of Barack Obama. Clinton’s carefully scripted off-the-cuff remarks and meticulously crafted distortions of current events didn’t appear to be helping anymore; every tried and true campaign stratagem seemed to become a perfect disaster, and when the fear of failure got to be too much, perhaps it occurred to her that the New Hampshire primary was coming precariously close to mirroring her own marriage: Someone younger and better looking was standing in the way of what she wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it. When it finally got to be too much, she broke down a little. And it saved her campaign.

On the other hand, skepticism should always be the fallback position when it comes to the Clintons. Likely that Senator Clinton doesn’t open her eyes in the morning without first wondering how it might impact her poll numbers. There is no earthly reason to believe that a woman who hasn’t displayed a spontaneous reaction in fifteen years suddenly found her emotional center – one day before the New Hampshire primary, which she was primed to lose badly – and decided to show everyone, as a means of conveying her resolute earnestness.

Had (then) First Lady Clinton, in the midst of explaining how a right-wing conspiracy was responsible for her husband’s serial infidelity, so much as batted an eye, or paused to blink, or wiped a phantom tear from her eye, perhaps one could reflect upon that display and take the New Hampshire stage show seriously. As it was, her bulldoggedness kept her from anything other than a forward assault, and with our knowing how Mrs. Clinton later reacted to Bill’s further dalliances (minus the conspiracy jive, add lamp throwing), it becomes even harder to believe Candidate Clinton is prone to choking up when reflecting upon the country’s potential.

Not convinced? Then take into account Senator Clinton’s batting practice at the expense of Access Hollywood last Sunday, wherein Maria Menounos subjected the senator to such hard-hitting questions as: “Do you have, like, regular woman problems?” “You’re alone on a Saturday, you don’t have any work to do: What do you do?” and, “Do you watch any reality shows?”

Of particular interest to Clinton skeptics, this gem: “Everyone is talking about Saturday’s debate. And you were criticized for getting angry; more people say angry and defensive. And it seems as though when a male candidate gets upset or voices their opinion, it’s okay. And now we’re seeing a female up there for the first time in a long time, and, and … or, ever. Are you – it seems like it’s not okay for a female. Do you – how do you express your emotions without tuning people out?”

This should have come as a shock to Senator Clinton, who not long ago took great pains to establish the fact she wasn’t being attacked because she’s a woman, but because she was ahead. “Well, I am passionate about what I believe,” Clinton replied, “and I am passionate about this country and what we need to do to change what is happening. And I know that you don’t get change by hoping for it, or demanding it. You get change by working hard to bring people together. That’s what I’ve done my whole life. And I want people to know that about me, and to know that I’m a fighter. You know, you can’t be a president who just says, ‘Oh, send me to the White House and everything will be wonderful.’ That’s not the way the world works. You want to be able to count on somebody to make the changes that they said that they will bring about.”

(For those of you keeping score, that’s “change” four times in one paragraph. And by the way, those of you taking such incalculable delight in President Bush’s problems with the language ought do yourselves the favor of attempting to diagram a few of the above sentences, and enjoy some giggles.)

The skeptic says: Something in the question about emotion finally underscored for the Clinton campaign the senator’s lack of reputation for pointless feelgoodism when compared to Senator Obama; when you’re a liberal, pointless feelgoodism matters. Worse having come to worse, it was decided that Clinton should break down slightly on Monday, lest the voters forget that Clinton is more than aware of what it means to undertake the solemn task of being president.

If it weren’t so brilliant, it would make the skeptic sick to his stomach.

New Column: "Notes on Iowa"

2008-01-04T08:13:00.002-05:00

Friday, 04 January 2008 - 591 words

One could comfortably assume that once Iowa rolls up its sidewalks, we can go back to ignoring it for another four years. Regretfully, however, the closer we come to continuous election cycles, the closer we come to All Iowa, All the Time; the next crop of malcontents will start drifting in two years from now, meandering in corner diners and boring everyone anew. Ten months before Election Day, those of us with attention spans cannot help but feel utterly exhausted; all their faces and ideas already seem to blend together. Who do you support? Huckabamaclintmey. That’s my guy. Or gal.

Despite their inherent silliness, the Iowa caucuses do sometimes force pleasant occurrences. Senators Biden and Dodd thought enough of the results to finally get the hint and pull the plugs on their respective campaigns. Were that the senators could have had these moments of clarity months ago, and spare themselves (and us, the citizens they wanted so badly to serve) the indignity of one dopey, twitchy debate performance after another.

On the other hand, Ron Paul took his fifth place finish as a mandate and vowed to plunge headlong into New Hampshire, South Carolina, and presumably Super Tuesday where, after repeatedly being stomped like a hippie at Altamont, he might also get the hint. In the late hours, Greta Van Susteren wondered why Doctor Paul wasn’t invited to participate in a Fox debate, arguing that someone who has garnered ten percent of the caucus vote is a force to be taken seriously and should be allowed to sit at the adult table.

And for most candidates, that case could be logically made. In Doctor Paul’s case, ten percent of Iowa caucus goers means that every one of the State’s 11,232 “9/11 Truthers” took it upon themselves to trudge through the weather and voice their discontent at the Bush administration’s imploding Tower 7 (wink, wink) by casting a drunken shout for Paul, who has, by the way, suggested the United States should have no presence whatsoever in the Arab Middle East. Paul has the Howard Dean bug: He attracts too few serious people to him, and his foreign policy stance is demonstrably naïve.

More likely than not, Senator Clinton’s drubbing was simply the latest incarnation of Iowa’s State gesture: thumbing its nose at a frontrunner. Super Tuesday will sort all that business out. What we do know is that Clinton has made virtually no headway in endearing herself to people who, whatever their reasons, don’t like her; those who dislike her now are going to continue doing so (your author included).

It’s not just because Hillary Clinton presents herself with all the subtlety and nuance of a Triple H ring entrance (compare her caucus night speech to Senator Obama’s and you’ll see it). Unconsciously, she reminds millions of people – not just men, either – of the woman they’ve always disliked most: the nameless woman was (or is) shrill, needlessly domineering, dishonest, and irritating; she carries an undeserved sense of entitlement and, when faced with opposition, sees more fit to bulldoze through it, or curse it, rather than face it honestly.

If Senator Clinton wins the Democratic nomination, the story of how she combated this disconnect will be the great narrative. It’s not as though Democrats find themselves in a position where they must hold their noses and vote Clinton; standing opposite her is a man who, whatever his failings in political philosophy, comes off as more honest, fluid, well-meaning and, frankly, smarter. More than before, Hillary Clinton misjudges Barack Obama at her peril.

Winding Down.

2007-08-29T07:01:00.000-04:00

Anyways. Following my failure to produce new columns last month, it finally – finally, finally – became clear that whatever I had previously hoped was my dream quietly passed at some point in the last two years. I began winding things down for good.

Over at BrianWise.com, a Kennedy assassination column from November 2002 (in which I took a pro-conspiracy position) was, a couple weeks ago, corrected to fit what I now realize is the proper view (Oswald as lone shooter). Some small corrections, having mostly to do with punctuation missteps and oddly-placed or missing words, were made to The Unabrian Manifesto. Expect to see the corrected version whenever I get round to it. To get a jump on the site’s functional shutdown, an image has been posted at the top of the main page. It reads: “Sorry, we’re no longer updating this site. We’ve left it as reference.”

Though I’ve been attempting to write postings for this blog, I’ve nothing even passively interesting to say without a writing career and an informed opinion at my back. The updates I’ve written have all pretty much descended to who’s fucking me and who isn’t; who’s lying to me; who’s not speaking to me and vice versa, so on and so on down that sad old high school line. To have posted that goddamned nonsense would have brought me perfectly in league with the half-a-country of fat, lonely 15-year-old girls who maintain the vast majority of MySpace accounts and blog pages (and who sooner or later will overtake Facebook, as well). Christ only knows the world doesn’t need another of those.

If something interesting or important should arise, you will find me here. And if I ever write again, it certainly will be posted here. If not, I bid you all a fond farewell.

Killface for President.

Frances Snyder, 1919 - 2007

2007-08-15T21:25:00.000-04:00

Frances Snyder, a woman who bares more mention than my rapidly diminishing writing talents will allow, died last Tuesday morning (7 August), at 88. Frances had been gradually declining since a bout with pneumonia two years ago, but up until a fall and short hospital stay a couple weeks ago was holding her own with this family’s jetset, such as it is – if there was a car in motion, and if that car was taking people to eat or shopping, she was on board, oxygen, walker or wheelchair, and all.

Frances died as every one of us hope to die: In her right mind, unable to move as freely as she would have liked and with diminished eyesight, but very much aware of everything happening around her, and to her. Frances long ago made her peace with the Lord and had absolutely no fear of shuffling off this mortal coil, or of whatever awaited her in the aftermath.

My mother died in 1985, and when my father remarried in 1997, Frances (mother of the bride) was part of the package. The bigger of the two spare bedrooms (once occupied by my brother and myself) was retrofitted for her arrival and she moved right in, becoming as quickly the centerpiece of that home as she had her own family so many years before.

Having scarcely met the woman before serving as my father’s best man, my initial decision regarding how to treat her was to tease her unmercifully. This was for a few reasons, the first being that if she was going to be part of the family, she should be treated like part of the family (my father and I have traded barbs for years across dinner tables and at all types of social occasions). But more importantly, it’s always seemed to me that too many of us seem content to handle older people as though they somewhere along the line stopped possessing wit, or laughing, or appreciating a good joke. So that was the tact, and I can tell you without hesitation that for the vast majority of the years I knew Frances, she gave as good as she got. That was our bit, and I’ve since been told that she loved that part of our relationship, but it wasn’t as though I really needed to be told. It was written all over her face.

I last saw Frances two Saturdays ago; by then it was obvious that two years worth of gradual decline had crossed that fine line and had become her final descent. To my way of thinking, Frances would only be with us for another few weeks. The next day, my brother (henceforth Cool Hand) called to say he’d just come from the family home and agreed that things didn’t look good.

Frances rebounded nicely on Monday (6 August), as only she could: eating, sleeping, and communicating well, before getting about the regular business of life Tuesday morning. Nancy (my father’s lovely bride, Frances’ daughter) helped Frances to the shower, during which she asked for the water to be a little warmer. As Nancy stretched to adjust the dials, Frances simply breathed her last and slumped slightly forward; at peace, at last. Even in death, Frances Snyder didn’t want to be a bother.

If there is a Heaven, Frances Snyder lingers today with the greats. Rest in Peace.

Bill Walsh and Tom Snyder

2007-07-31T21:21:00.000-04:00

Bill Walsh has died. If you’ve enjoyed football at any point in the last twenty-five years, you’ve got Bill Walsh to thank. Walsh coached the Beloved San Francisco 49ers for ten years, taking the club from a 2-14 mark his first season to a Super Bowl win his third. In those ten years the Beloved Niners won six division titles and three Super Bowls, back when winning Super Bowls meant something (before the league was significantly watered down because so much talent was spread so thin between so many teams). Walsh was the architect of what today is called the West Coast offense, a system so groundbreaking that it took the rest of the NFL until well into the 1990s to realize what it was seeing. (By that time, the Beloved Niners had tacked on two more World championships.) A leader of men and a crafter of character, team first and always, one of the greatest minds to ever walk the sidelines. Bill Walsh suffered leukemia and died Monday, at 75. R.I.P.

Tom Snyder has died. This is a crippling blow to whatever remains of the spirit of civility and good humor on television, as Snyder was perhaps the last relevant, thoughtful and competent interviewer of his generation (and one of the two, of any generation, anywhere near American broadcasting). You may not have ever seen Snyder host Tomorrow with Tom Snyder (1973 – 1982), but you’ve seen footage of that influential show everywhere over the years: Wendy O. Williams destroyed a car during a Plasmatics appearance in 1980; John Lennon conducted his last televised interview there; U2 debuted there in 1981, as did “Weird Al” Yankovic; not to forget a Charles Manson interview that even today would have to be seen to be believed. Network meddling with the show’s format forced Snyder aside in 1982 and David Letterman took the slot in 1983. As part of his later contract with CBS, Letterman was able to develop his own 12.35am show, and in 1995 he offered Snyder The Late Late Show, from which he retired in 1999. He was never The Star, and was the perfect remedy for a cesspool of mediocrity and thoughtless jackassery we today lament as simply being modern television. Tom Snyder suffered leukemia and died Sunday, at 71. R.I.P.

I Have Nothing to Say to You People.

2007-07-30T17:40:00.000-04:00

Left hamstring feeling much better; will get back to working out Tuesday morning on some equipment lent by a neighbor. Further explanation as to the exact workout routine later this week, but the upshot is that I’d like to capitalize on the few pounds I’ve lost in the next month, before embarking on my 2007 I Have Nothing To Say to You People World Tour of Parts of the Midwest, beginning at the end of August and continuing through the first half of September. Currently seeking groupies to service me at various stops along the way.

But this cold has lingered all week. “I’ve got a cold,” I told the very attractive midget girl working the gas station last Wednesday night, “so no tongue kissing.” Wish you could have seen her face. What a good sport.

Iraqi celebrations turn deadly in the wake of its national team winning a soccer championship over the weekend. (Which championship? Who cares; it’s soccer.) Nice going, Iraq. Americans would have never known any progress was being made there until we saw you riot over a sports championship, like here in the States. If only the Iraqis would start murdering other spectators in the stands, they could warm the hearts of Europeans and Central Americans, as well.

The upside being, of course, that if the Iraqi team had lost the championship game, the players wouldn’t have been forced to kick around a concrete soccer ball in the aftermath, as was common under the previous regime.

List: Ten Songs That Will Probably Kill the Mood at an Orgy.

“Why Does it Hurt When I Pee?” by Dog Eat Dog
“Having My Baby” by Paul Anka
“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot
“The Night Chicago Died” by Paper Lace
“Goodbye English Rose” by Elton John
“Don’t Try Suicide” by Queen
“Little Willy” by Sweet
“Misery” by Soul Asylum
“Up Against the Wall Redneck Mother” by Jerry Jeff Walker
The Roots theme

Half The Man I Used To Be (Weekend in Review)

2007-07-23T08:05:00.000-04:00

Already down in the dumps over last week’s column fiasco, I somewhat looked forward to this last weekend as a sort of emotional pallet cleanser. Rose about 4pm Thursday, hovered about aimlessly before showering and heading to the office (late). There I made up things to do until Friday morning when I went home, watched the Three Stooges, and napped for a couple hours before getting up and running vital errands: Bank, downtown to buy four baseball tickets to that night’s game and lunch before heading home, whence I prepared a rent payment and laid back down. Any hopes of a follow-up nap were for some reason impossible, so instead of sleeping I watched the History Channel’s Abraham Lincoln special on video for the three trillionth time.

Hopped out of bed about 430pm; for those of you interested, that means I’d managed approximately two hours sleep in the previous twenty-four-and-a-half. To the bathroom to shave my head and shower, and by the time I was dressed it was time to drive to South Bend, fetch my son (aged 13) and head to the baseball game, where we met my brother (Cool Hand) and my father (Mr. Wise to you). First pitch was at 730pm with fireworks afterward (which is apparently the norm after Friday night home games, unbeknownst to me earlier in the day); good guys lost 3-0 but the fireworks were quite passable.

Long about the seventh inning I received a text message from Twitch, this tiny little bi-sexual girl I know. Twitch is the kind of gal that really makes you glad you’re not married or seriously dating someone: utterly lacking reservation about the life she lives and why she lives it, she’s quite content to laugh and talk about that time you fingered her in a public hot tub and in the aftermath walked to the pool with a boner the size of Andre the Giant’s arm, yielding a sense of humor you’d sooner expect from one of the guys. Said another way, she’s someone your wife or girlfriend would absolutely hate if she met and would have a seizure if she found out later you wanted to meet at a bar for a beer.

Anyways: Twitch was out and about, wandering around with a friend near my place, and wondering what time I was going to be home. No guarantees, I replied; once we were done at the game, I was taking my son to see the Harry Potter freakshow at the Barnes and Noble. What time was too late to text her back for a visit? (The answer: “4am.” Thatta girl.) We finally got out of the ballpark about 11pm and headed straight for the bookstore, which we reached around 1130pm (meaning two hours of sleep in the previous thirty-one-and-a-half).

I’ve attended concerts with fewer fucking cars in the parking lot. The building already packed to the capacity allowed by the fire code, a line streamed out the door, around the corner and most of the way toward the back of the quite-large-for-a-bookstore building. Not only was the Barnes and Noble lot packed, so were two nearby lots normally reserved for a few restaurants, and a decently sized strip mall lot, around to the back of both buildings, where people were just making up places to park.

We headed to the front of the line, people gazing. My son managed to dodge the Harry Potter fad in each of its numerous phases, but we did spy many little kids in various states of character related dress; for them, standing outside in line at midnight in fifty degree weather must have been the coolest thing ever, least of all because they were allowed to do all the things no eight or nine-year-old should be allowed to do: Stay up past midnight, dress up in play clothes with no concern for the weather, talk excitedly to adult strangers about the one thing in the world in which they have a common interest.

We made our way over to a used music and DVD store nearby, which had stayed open to take advantage of the line across the way; I’m friendly with most of the staff, especially the guy working this night, a fellow Beloved Atlanta Braves fan. In a discussion about (2006 TGO Awards Movie of the Year winner) Clerks II, my son made a brilliant “Listerfiend” callback and we made one last lap around the weirdos before being forced to make a ten point turn just to get out of the goddamned parking lot.

Was home by 1am (meaning two hours of sleep in the previous thirty-three), when I sent Twitch a text message informing her I was home. She arrived about 130am. Her hair and tattoos looked great. We sat around and babbled incessantly, watched Red Eye on Fox News Channel, then Lisa Lampanelli on Comedy Central and chose new music to signify incoming calls on her cell before things started to get sleepy. We generally made a nuisance out of ourselves until she went home about 730am, allowing me (after an email check) about 45 minutes of sleep before Stuntman Mike arrived for breakfast. I was unspeakably short and rude to Stuntman Mike, but eventually came around and we got away for breakfast after a quick caffeine injection.

Was finally in bed about noon Saturday (which equals two hours and forty-five minutes of sleep in the previous forty). Slept effortlessly until 9pm; rolled over and watched British sit-coms until midnight before falling back asleep until about 3am Sunday, when I had to field a phone call, and then until 7am, when I fed the cats, took a piss and slept until about noon.

At four o’clock Sunday afternoon, my local public television station aired Young Frankenstein unedited and without solicitations; later in the night I napped and am now, Monday morning, listening to Amy Winehouse’s wonderful album. My back hurts like I’ve got fucking meningitis, my throat is throwing off a dull pain, both ankles are killing me, and my previously self-diagnosed hip injury actually turned out to be a hamstring injury acquired while engaging in a light workout two Sundays ago, meaning that I’ll be spending the next two months walking like an eighty-four-year-old woman. I am literally half the man I used to be, but in every other way I’m feeling much better than at this time last week; think I’ll head over to one of the local radio stations and have a DJ I know give me a tour. (Will also ask after the White Stripes tickets I inquired about early last week.)

We’ll see about a column this week.

I Stink.

2007-07-19T16:23:00.000-04:00

For the three of you hoping to see a new column yesterday – you know, on account of the fact I announced about a month ago that new columns were on the way – your surprise at not seeing one (or perhaps your lack of surprise) rivals only the level to which I am disgusted with myself for not being able to produce at least 700 words.

Things with that first column were very slow going over the early part of the week, but going nonetheless. Already six hours behind schedule by 4am Wednesday, I’d managed approximately 350 words of passable content; nothing brilliant, but nothing that would lead villagers brandishing torches and pitchforks to descend upon my home. Stuck in that place, I opened a book, looking for some motivation. Not long later I was intellectually exhausted (from what, I have no idea) and devoid of any inspiration or motivation to continue. My mind was the blankest slate I can ever recall while attempting to write.

In various attempts to straighten up and fly right (mister), I drove about aimlessly for awhile, fixed a light breakfast, watched the Three Stooges and even napped briefly, the idea being that as long as the column was late anyway, it didn’t matter whether the remaining four or five paragraphs were written right that minute; late Wednesday night would still be Wednesday.

Upon waking I sat in silence in front of this laptop and stared at the blinking cursor for about 35 minutes before coming to the depressing realization that nothing was coming, and nothing was going to come no longer how much longer I attempted to put roots to this desk chair. Even giving myself a month to get my emotional act together, I still fell apart like any random piece of Democratic legislation.

I hate myself for this failure.

Did the Dirt Worshiper Arafat Die of The AIDS?

2007-07-15T07:07:00.000-04:00

If his fellow Dirt Worshiper Ahmad Jibril, Secretary General of PFLP (Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine) is to be believed, the French submitted a report saying as such. This would explain why no official cause of death was ever announced, and why the French danced like Fred Astaire when it came to discussing Arafat's final condition.

See for yourself.

It would explain, as Mark Steyn mentioned at National Review Online, Arafat's "corps of hunky blond Scandinavian bodyguards."

Al Gore III (a.k.a. "Purple Haze") and His Getaway Car

2007-07-08T19:00:00.000-04:00

One of the downfalls of being so out of the loop (as I’ve been for the last couple years) is that I’ve fallen drastically behind in all my Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy stuff. Why, you could hardly call me a member at all anymore, such is my falling behind. So I’m just now, on Sunday evening, reading that when Al “Purple Haze” Gore III was ushered from jail by his sister last week, it was in a Maserati Quattroporte (youtubers are ahead of the curve on this one; see the raw video of his getaway here, and note that the ability to leave comments for this particular piece of video has been disabled).

Now here’s a fun intellectual exercise. Hop onto Google and type in, “Maserati Quattroporte, fuel economy” (or if you’re too lazy, click here). As of Sunday, 08 July, the very first link takes you to FuelEconomy.gov, giving you all the vital statistics for a 2006 Quattroporte: 11 miles per gallon city, 16 highway, with an air pollution score of 2 (10 being the best). Now I have no way of knowing the model year of the Maserati that scooped up “Purple Haze,” but I feel safe in assuming that neither older nor newer versions of the same car are any more fuel efficient than the 2006 model.

Staying with FuelEconomy.gov, begin a series of new searches sticking with the model year 2006 (for the sake of constancy). A Hummer H3 (one of the vehicles most vilified by our environmentalist friends) weighs in at 12 city and 16 highway; and oddly enough, a 3 on the 10 point air pollution scale. An all-wheel drive 2006 Cadillac Escalade gets 12 / 16 / 3, and the two-wheel drive will nab you a slim 13 / 17 / 3.

To be fair, the Ferrari 612 Scaglietti (a random selection for the purposes of comparison) hits the streets at 9 / 16 / 2; and a Lamborghini L-140 / 715 Gallardo at 10 / 15 /2, so clearly there are cars worse for the environment than the one that sped “Purple Haze” off into the distance. But all this succeeds in pointing out is that the Quattroporte isn’t exactly keeping fine company in the ongoing battle for fuel economy; especially not when a 2006 Prius tips the scales at a phenomenal 48 / 45 / 8, and that a Prius is what "Purple Haze" was driving in the first place.

Without even researching the matter, I will simply think the better of my fellow Man and assume that all our favorite environmental organizations are up in arms over the prodigious waste of our planet’s natural resources, and are sending all the appropriate evil looks and threatening faxes to Vice President Gore’s estate, demanding that he strongarm his daughter and make her fall into line. Or it could be they will choose to remain silent, believing that everyone should be allowed to make their own choices regarding fuel economy, and that if left to its own devices, the free market will work itself out. But not likely.

Incidentally, before being asked by an irritated reader, my car – a nearly 14-year-old Toyota Paseo – nabs 23 / 29 with an unknown air pollution score.

Al Gore III / “Predator” Marathon / Arctic Monkeys / The Other, Sober Gore

2007-07-06T07:38:00.000-04:00

1) Al Gore’s son – cleverly named Al Gore III – was arrested about 2.15am Wednesday for, according to this news report, “driving a blue Toyota Prius at speeds over 100 mph when he was pulled over … on the San Diego freeway south of Los Angeles. Smelling marijuana, police searched the car and found less than one ounce of marijuana and prescription drugs Xanax, Valium, Vicodin and Adderall, Sheriff’s Department spokesman Jim Armormino said…. Gore, 24, was released from a men’s jail in Santa Ana after posting $20,000 bail.”

Party at Gore’s house!

2) MSNBC broadcast a marathon of the Dateline NBC “To Catch a Predator” shows Wednesday night / Thursday morning, and for those brief, shining moments, it was the greatest basic cable channel of all time.

Could there possibly be a bigger buzzkill in the long, sad history of ill-gotten boners than Chris Hansen walking out from behind a partition when you were hoping for a 13-year-old in a bikini (or the like)? There is a sadness in knowing that teens are being taken advantage of by men of this sort, but that is eventually topped by the sheer hilarity of these tweaks as they’re not only drawn and quartered by Hansen and the transcripts of their own conversations, but then arrested in the aftermath. One hopes that not long after being handed a prolonged prison sentence, they’ll not only have tits inked onto their backs, but will then be subjected to various incidents of anal rape throughout their stay.

Wanting to fuck a 13-year-old is a compulsion I’ll never come close to understanding, for the widest variety of possible reasons. And not to put too fine a point on it, but 18 is still pretty goddamn young. Heading in that direction (18) won’t make you any more of a man, but it will at least make you legal, and will keep you from having to post a $30,000 bail, explain your various perversions to your wife / kids / parents et cetera, suffer the aforementioned tit tattoos on your back and prison rapes, ad infinitum.

I’m not even going to pretend I don’t prefer, and at times am distracted by, younger females; mainly redheads and freaks. But fuck all if any of the females that turn my head are only a few scant evolutionary steps away from being, basically, toddlers. The lone guarantee I’ll make to anyone who cares to listen is that if I’m ever going to be arrested for something, it sure as hell won’t be for scamming on teenage girls. I prefer to conduct my affairs with those comfortably within legal drinking age.

3) Looking for a reason to love the band Arctic Monkeys? It’s become the first to note, in a roundabout way, the obvious hypocrisy in bands boarding private jets and moving numerous collections of stage equipment to locals all over the world, including the “We Heart Earth” concerts this weekend, and then screaming on behalf of the poor planet we commoners are poisoning. This is not to forget the electricity necessary to power their instruments and microphones, or the electricity needed to power the lights under which the bands will be performing, et cetera.

Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to get started on that war against good intentions. The problem with World Savers is that they’re so consumed with saving the world, they often lack the wisdom, willingness and foresight to effectively manage the lives they’ve somehow managed to create for themselves. Thinking here of Al Gore III, for just one example – something tells me that had his mother been less concerned with censoring music, and his father less obsessed with casting a taller shadow than that cast by the first Senator Gore, maybe they would have had more time to dedicate to their dopey son (who, by the way, did not suffer his first drug arrest this last Wednesday morning).

But someone has to save the world, don’t they? Not necessarily. Firstly, there is no saving the world when so much of the rest of the world can neither be threatened nor cajoled into caring as much as you do (speaking mainly of places like China, in regards to harmful emissions the filthiest country on the planet, or India, which will soon enough trump even the United States in oil consumption, but which doesn’t give the matter so much as a first thought). Better for Americans to turn their attentions to saving the United States and hoping the feeling spreads.

At as far as the United States is concerned, if people took it upon themselves to (first) tend logically and faithfully to their own conditions – and then closely lending the same care to their families / loved ones – we could, in no small measure, work ourselves out. Sure it sounds simplistic and naïve, but no more naïve than believing global warming (such as it is) can be set right by the “awareness” spawned by twenty-four hours worth of concerts brought to you in some of the most energy wasting circumstances imaginable.

Now in regards to getting out from under the third world shitholes that sell us the oil we feel compelled to use, I’m open to all variety of thoughtful ideas, provided of course they’re thoughtful ideas and not preached by someone who flew across country in a Gulfstream in order to get me the message.

I guess what I’m saying is: Arctic Monkeys is right, and enjoy the music this weekend, but always remember that saving the world begins on much smaller scales, such as those at home.

4) By the way: Before his son was pinched, Al Gore had cancelled a long series of “Ain’t I wonderful?” appearances over the remainder of the summer. He could be thinking the time might be better spent on the campaign trail. If Gore is going to announce anything close to a presidential bid, it could not be done in front of a bigger throng of admirers than at one of these “We Heart Earth” concerts; say, on Saturday. Just getting it out there.

Canadian Teens Are Fat Pieces of Shit, Too

2007-07-01T18:52:00.000-04:00

And European teens - well, the 37 European teens who aren't Arab, anyway - aren't exactly svelte these days (making it all the easier for them to roll over and accept the Muslim takeover). Anyways. Read the story about Canadian teens, complete with an utterly gruesome picture of teen man-tits, here.

UPDATED on Monday, 23 July 2007 @ 3.45pm: The above link no longer takes you to the hideous picture in question, so I've posted it for you below.

"Lido Shuffle" / Joel Siegel: Still Dead

2007-06-30T20:10:00.000-04:00

“Lido Shuffle” by Boz Scaggs. You’re welcome.

Joel Siegel, legendarily awful movie critic for the equally awful Good Morning America, has died, at 63. This just goes to prove that, once in a while, genius is left to bless us while the mediocre die in their stead (this contrary to the old Bill Hicks axiom, about geniuses leaving us too soon while hacks are allowed to thrive and prosper).

Around these parts, Siegel is best known for pulling one of the all-time great punk moves by standing up forty minutes into (2006 TGO Movie of the Year winner) Clerks II, screaming “Time to go! First movie I’ve walked out of in thirty fucking years!” and storming out of the screening. In the aftermath, writer / director Kevin Smith took Siegel to the mat (along with comedians Rich Vos and future living legend Jim Norton) in a series of brilliant exchanges on the Opie and Anthony radio show (which you can listen to by clicking here – running time: 15:03; file size: 27.5 megs; better, please, to download the clip). If you’re going to have a legacy (other than being a truly terrible critic with overtly feminine tastes), it may as well be getting punked out by Kevin Smith.

Columns / Die, Paris, Die / Paul Newman / “Icky Thump” / “Live Free or Die Hard”

2007-06-28T16:44:00.000-04:00

1) Unless some fetching, redheaded piece of ass drives me to distraction between now and then, new “In Dissent” opinion columns will begin invading your eye sockets on Wednesday, 18 July. Hilariously enough, the re-launch will coincide with a general “get your fat ass into better shape” program, so you should expect the first several columns to be about joint pain and muscle stiffness.

2) We should all thank Christ that Fox News Channel had the intellectual wherewithal to break through a serious news show, like the 3am EST rebroadcast of Special Report, to cover the release from jail of Paris Hilton. I stared at the screen in vain, desperately hoping that as she traipsed to her parent’s SUV, a modern day Jack Ruby would lurch from the crowd and finish the job her mother didn’t have the foresight to let an abortionist handle in the first place.

It wasn’t just Fox, of course – MSNBC and CNN also cut into what passes for their regular programming to broadcast the Awful Event – but no one ran their coverage longer than did FNC. By flipping back and forth, I observed that Hilton owned Fox’s air throughout the entire three o’clock hour and well into the four o’clock hour. Whoever made the decision to stretch this non-story into an ordeal ought to be relegated to homelessness and a decade of forced sodomy.

Didn’t bother with the Larry King interview, but I hear it was unintentionally hilarious, so now I may have to seek it out somewhere.

3) A timely note for Paul Newman: Your son died of a drug overdose. There ARE things worse than George W. Bush.

4) Though The White Stripes’ new album Icky Thump is slightly less innovative and enticing than its last two albums (2005’s Get Behind Me Satan and 2003’s Elephant), it’s still twelve times more interesting than anything any other notable modern act manages to record. Two thumbs up.

5) Live Free or Die Hard is perfectly fun, pointless, loud, and custom made for 20-year-old boys who like to watch shit explode. My son and I took in a 4.10pm show Wednesday, ate too much popcorn, drank too much Cherry Coke and Raspberry icy things, and had an absolute blast. As long as you know have a fair idea what you’re getting before you sit down, you’ll have a fine time.

What the Hell is An Aluminum Falcon?!

2007-06-20T18:51:00.000-04:00

http://www.adultswim.com/video/?episodeID=8a25c392132b05a201132b098c6d0008

Hillary Clinton Chooses Campaign Song (Not Soviet National Anthem, As I'd Hoped)

2007-06-19T21:14:00.000-04:00

When even Hillary Clinton can see the writing on the wall, it's a sad day for David Chase....

http://youtube.com/watch?v=gK0G5pbT7RQ

Immigration Bill / Columns / “Era Vulgaris” / “The Sopranos” / “John From Cincinnati”

2007-06-15T07:37:00.000-04:00

1) At the grassroots level, the Republican party (and more specifically, the conservative movement) hasn’t changed much since Mr. William F. Buckley, Jr. was backhand slapping Yale into a frenzy of feminine overreaction way back there in the early 1950s. But at the federal level, the party has gone horribly astray, drifting hither and yon between watered down versions of Democratic ideals and outright socialism (that it’s trendy socialism doesn’t make it a socialism of any lesser degree).

If your political beliefs ebb and flow with whoever is president, or whichever party controls the House or Senate, then what you have aren’t political beliefs, they’re conversation starters. Consequently, when your core beliefs are exactly those, drastic measures may sometimes have to be taken when your party of choice strays too far from its first principles. So I say here that passage of the immigration bill currently being resurrected on the Senate floor will be the last sin I can stand, meaning that if it reaches President Bush’s desk, I will leave the Republican party and register as an Independent.

2) A pronounced lack of purpose has weighed upon my conscience since the Lincoln book fell apart in March, and with my new lover living so far away, I decided some other action was in order, even if it’s wrong.

Three affiliates were publishing the “In Dissent” opinion column when I drifted away from its regular production early last year; all three have agreed to carry whatever new columns leave this desk, so expect to see new columns every Wednesday beginning some time this summer. No exact date has been chosen. Further updates as they warrant. Expect only that I will flop back into the scene with my blade sharpened; and know that that sort of conditioning takes some time.

3) Queens of The Stone Age is too often accused of being a stoner band; for one example, see the July 2007 issue of Blender magazine: “… each [Queens album] relies on easy-tempo, robot-stoner rock,” and so forth. Actually, John Homme and company (whoever “company” should be from one album to the next) have, beginning with Restricted is 2000, produced albums far too musically intricate and interesting to be fairly considered stoner music (especially the band’s masterpiece 2002 album Songs for the Deaf).

But with Era Vulgaris (released 12 June), a stripped down Queens has produced … something pretty close to stoner rock, as it would be defined by most thoughtful observers. It’s a decent little record; not brilliant, not terrible – not likely to attract a ton of new fans, but also not likely to force longtime fans to swear off the band in disgust. No matter what, QOTSA is one of the better live rock bands touring today, and you’d do well to see them if they come close.

4) For the record, David Chase is overrated. He slipped in a puddle of good fortune and managed despite himself to pound out a winner with The Sopranos’ first season, but once people started paying attention, Chase found himself suffering from performance anxiety and the show floundered.

That having been said, I haven’t quite decided whether the Sopranos series finale represented the last, desperate gasp of a writer who has never been much of an A to Z plotter, or a masterstroke of creative genius. However I can tell you that if I’d been allowed to read the final nine scripts before shooting began, I’d have beaten someone about the head and face until AJ Soprano was either made butch, or forced to die a brutal, unceremonious death.

Clearly Chase had no idea what to do with him, so he turned AJ into a maudlin, whining, near child molesting, gang supporting, terrorist-leaning cunt of a boy, with the bottom line being that his downfall as a relevant character bogs down what could have otherwise been an exceptional last run for a show that desperately needed an exceptional last run.

As for the sudden, cut-to-black ending – which caused everyone in the world who saw it, myself included, to fall face first into stunned, cackling disbelief – it accomplished exactly what was intended: Everyone was talking about The Sopranos the next morning. Press attention does nothing for completists (i.e., those who become obsessed over shows like The Sopranos or Deadwood and who want nothing more for their lives than for their shows to come to clear, logical conclusions), but it helps to further present HBO and Chase as a network and an artist willing to take a chance. But to what end? Exactly what chance is honestly being taken as you’re walking out the door?

Then again, it could have been one last “fuck you” to those who have spent years complaining that David Chase isn’t much for concluding his stories in a commonsense manner. So, you know, well done, Chase – no matter what else, those critics were right.

5) Speaking of HBO, the first episode of John From Cincinnati (forevermore known as the show that killed my beloved Deadwood) was actually very, very good; David Milch and company have definitely earned my attention. My sincere hope is that my fellow Deadwood zealots will give John a fair shot.

2007-06-04T20:32:00.001-04:00

Today’s date: Monday, 04 June 2007.
Your next chance to elect a president: Tuesday, 04 November 2008.
That president-elect’s inauguration day: Tuesday, 20 January 2009.
Distance between now and Election Day: 1 year, 5 months.
Distance between now and inauguration day: 1 year, 7 months, 15 days.

Just wanted to get that out there, in the event anyone has the mistaken impression the presidential debates we’re seeing now are relevant, or even that the candidates are answering questions that will still be lingering at the fore of the American consciousness 17 months from now.

The largest of these being the Iraqi War, which as we sit today has a three-month plus length of fuse left to burn through, during which time the Iraqis are expected to prove, without reasonable doubt, that they are as interested in their own long term safety and well being as we are. (Well, as some of us are.) Should the Iraqis not show greater enthusiasm in rooting out and eliminating the Dirt Worshipers before some magical date in September, the face of the conflict will (and should) change greatly. Resistance to funding and troop withdrawal will largely evaporate, and then the fistfights will be about how and when to bring large numbers of soldiers home, and where bases should be established, but not over whether we should continue to stand and allow our good intentions to be shoveled to the wayside.

On the happier (but less likely) side of the ledger, the Iraqis could find it within themselves to come to their senses, begin to take themselves seriously, start working through the more contentious matters standing between their various adorable little fanaticisms and an earnestly functioning government – and it’s not even that I would need to see it humming along flawlessly by September; I’d settle for Steps In The Right Direction (as, I’m sure, would President Bush). Supposing there arise further Steps In The Right Direction, the president could make an argument for continuing to assist the Iraqis in their path to autonomy, meaning the Iraqi debate on these shores could turn to, I don’t know, equitable distribution of funds for pivotal ….. zzzzzzzzzz

In any case, the odds are exceptional The War as construed and criticized today (at occasions like last night’s Democrats debate on CNN) will have changed greatly between now and Election Day 2008. For Senator Clinton to say she has a three point plan to bring soldiers home is fine, I guess, but no matter how industriously constructed, her plan cannot possibly account for whatever variables might arise in Iraq between now and the Democratic convention.

Of course, yes, a debate at this remove serves only to demonstrate which candidate is most willing to push aside their pride and convictions to kiss the ring collectively worn by the loosely confederated band of nitwits and filthy heathens that make up the MoveOn contingency; the provocative footrace to demonstrate who can run the furthest Left the fastest, all to win the affections of a group of people genetically predisposed to resent nuance in thought and action. Nice going, whoever won.

But has anyone bothered to tell the Democrats they’re not running against President Bush next November?

2) Sometime Tuesday I’ll get around to isolating the audio and / or video for all my blog peeps (both of you), but noted political ignoramus / otherwise hot piece of ass Sarah Silverman torched Paris Hilton in her monologue at the MTV Movie Awards Sunday night. (Was I alone in not knowing until the last minute the thing had even been scheduled?) Naturally I made no effort to watch the thing, but after reading an article this afternoon sought out the clips in question, linked for you here. (Granted I’d seen Silverman on commercials while flipping past MTV, but so distracted was I by the fantasy where I blow wave after wave of DNA across her face, I’d neglected to notice why she was there.)

By chance this morning, I stumbled upon video of Hilton going to jail and knew I was living the greatest day ever. Here’s to hoping she’ll emerge with her breath smelling oddly of the ocean – hoping against hope that the women she’s forced to service in jail will have much less regard for hygiene and grooming than the girls Hilton is used to servicing.

The Slow Leak: TGO Radio's Greatest Hits (Part Two)

2007-05-31T11:27:00.000-04:00

Awaiting the relaunch of TGO Radio's official website, here is a link of the second of 17 tracks selected thus far for the compilation / website. Best if saved to your hard drive and listened to after the fact, but the file will, of course, work if you click and listen. PARENTAL ADVISORY! and stuff.

Track Four: "The Old Prostitutes Home." Length: 2.22; file size is 2.17 megs.

(Right click, "save target as ...")

"Pirates of the Caribbean" Stinks / More on "Spider-Man 3"

2007-05-28T07:44:00.000-04:00

1) Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End is one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.

The reader ought not misconstrue the meaning of that statement. Often, when someone sees a particularly awful movie, they’re almost always tempted to say it was one of the worst they’ve ever seen because they can think of no other way to convey their lack of satisfaction. So let there be no misunderstanding. Even with the pass that allowed me seven dollars off the ticket price, meaning I paid only 50 cents for entry, I still overpaid. The trip to the bathroom taken just before I sat to write this blog entry produced a result that was not only more tightly constructed than Pirates, it also made more sense.

Pirates’ greatest sin is that it descends to what has become Hollywood’s most disturbing recent trend (most recently employed in Spider-Man 3, but also notably in such unintended disasters as King Kong): It’s drastically, terribly overwritten, and because of that, everything else suffers. I can only imagine that the final shooting script must have rivaled Atlas Shrugged in length.

In a desperate, mad dash to make Orlando Bloom’s character interesting for the first time in three films, (what feels like) twelve plot twists involving Turner are inexplicably woven into the story. The goal is to create an illusion of unreliability around him, but the actual result is that all this “Is he or isn’t he?” gets old, and at a record pace. On several occasions the main characters are forced to confront each other, and you’re never really sure why, because in the end, the notion of Turner as heel is so preposterous, you know everything will work itself out, and everyone will end up on the same side.

Same with Keira Knightley’s character, who until At World’s End has been interesting only because she comes close to genetic perfection, with a sexy-as-fuck accent. We find her not far from where she was this time last year, although in the beginning a vehicle for a pretty good gag about the large number of weapons she’s able to keep on her person. In short enough order (if there can be such a thing with this movie), she’s a captain, then a King; and then, as their ship swirls around the rim of (what amounts to) a giant toilet bowl in the ocean, hers and Bloom’s characters manage to both swordfight the villains and take marriage vows, administered by Barbossa. While I appreciate the desire to be tidy and tie all loose ends, I staggered away knowing it could have been done utilizing more creativity and forethought.

But never mind those two. John Depp makes the franchise, and it’s Depp who suffers the most from this unrestrained overwriting. On the verge of ushering a truly iconic character into the American cultural lexicon, Depp is instead contractually regulated to the material provided him, which turns out to be even more slapdash and wasteful when it comes to Jack Sparrow than the others.

Depp may be a socialist twat, but he’s also a fucking genius as an actor – the unfortunate byproduct of the meandering script is that his great talents are wasted because the writers wanted so badly to add a little more silliness and mental instability to a character that seemed perfectly silly and unstable in the first place. (Depp’s first turn as Sparrow didn’t earn him an Oscar nomination for nothing.)

The music employed throughout is positively ponderous, and never lets up. (Thank Christ it’s there, or else I wouldn’t have known how to feel!) Of course, Pirates is not unique on this score (no pun intended), but as the movie continued, and continued, and continued (with a running time of 2:47), it seemed in this example to be particularly relentless.

Also disturbing were the long, rambling monologues our heroes are forced to utter. I’m not against them, per se; when properly written and undertaken, a long monologue can convince the viewer to offer their undivided attention. (There are many examples, but the first that pops into my head in Christopher Walken’s turn in Pulp Fiction.) In regards to Pirates, the speeches are inserted because the writers have done such an awful job of explaining their plot for the last two pictures, and need desperately to get out from under their own work.

Everything in the world of entertainment should come back to HBO’s Deadwood. Any writer thinking of adding long diatribes to his script should first, by federal law, be forced to watch all three seasons of Deadwood, wherein they will learn how important it is to know their characters, the circumstances that bring them to this moment in their script, and the importance of foresight.

The special effects are, of course, marvelous. But if you’re over the age of 18 and have already seen much of what Hollywood has to offer in that area, special effects can only mean so much. The opening sequence, where wave after wave of people are hung for their support of pirates, is perfectly dark and well assembled; but that is the last interesting idea the film has to offer.

2) Having now spent nearly 900 words slamming Pirates of the Caribbean, I turn back to Spider-Man 3, which I am sad to say I have not appropriately damned to the five dollar bin at your local video store.

Writing about Spider-Man 3 for National Review, Ross Douthat says some fun and interesting things, with which I agree wholeheartedly and excerpt here for your enjoyment.

“… [It] isn’t a good sign for the franchise that I was more interested in figuring out what it takes to kill off Spidey – four punches from the Sandman’s elephant-sized fists? five? six? – than in anything else that had happened on screen in the previous two hours. There are rumors that this was the most expensive movie ever made, eclipsing even the inflation-adjusted price of the Taylor-Burton Cleopatra, and the money wasn’t exactly spent in vain: Spider-Man 3 is stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey [i.e., overwritten], with more villains, more love interests, more special effects and (alas) more dance numbers than the previous two numbers put together. Indeed, given the price tag, I suppose it’s almost understandable that a Sony Pictures accountant looked hard at the balance sheet and decided that if they were going to finance all the CGI, they couldn’t afford to shell out for a screenplay, too.

“Or maybe they splurged on four screenplays and then hired a team of baboons to run them all together…. That [Peter Parker’s transformation to the “dark Peter Parker”] is supposed to be sinister rather than hilarious is just one of the many problems with Spider-Man 3…. But when the meteor carrying the black goo happens to land ten feet from the web where Peter and Kirsten Dunst’s Mary Jane are making out, with no explanation save coincidence, the audience grown restless; when the Sandman happens to be the real killer of Peter’s uncle, thus undercutting a major plot point from the first movie suggesting a certain stakes-raising desperation in the filmmakers, the grumbling grows louder; and when the tycoon’s son turns out to have a butler, heretofore unglimpsed, who happens to offer a revelation at a crucial moment without explaining why he never mentioned it before, the only appropriate response is heckling, or maybe giggles.”

Here, here, Douthat. Well said, though I wish I’d said it first.

"Indoctrinate U"

2007-05-24T07:33:00.000-04:00

In the lead-up to the Iraqi War, I released a long essay entitled “Troublesome People And Their Ideas,” part of which documented portions of Evan Coyne Maloney’s short film “Protesting the Protesters.” Maloney plunked himself amongst the rabble at an antiwar protest and asked them simple questions about the war to come. Their reactions were all at once typical of the breed and unsettling.

Maloney granted me permission to excerpt his film before the essay’s initial release in February 2003, and again just before large portions of the essay were pruned away for The Unabrian Manifesto in January 2006 (read the portions of Maloney’s film on pages 66 through 68). In my dealings with Maloney, I found him pleasant and gracious in offering me his permissions.

Wednesday I was pleased to learn that Evan Maloney has completed and released a full-length documentary film called Indoctrinate-U, about the Left’s ongoing, pervasive, and successful indoctrination of students at colleges and universities everywhere. A grass roots movement is springing up around the film; its aim is to not only arrange screenings but also to convince a distributor the film is worth the gamble. Count me in.

Learn more by reading the Stanley Kurtz article at National Review Online, then visit the official website here (which includes a fine preview).

The Slow Leak: TGO Radio's Greatest Hits

2007-05-23T20:01:00.000-04:00

Available now for download, a track from the upcoming “TGO Radio’s Greatest Hits.”

PARENTAL ADVISORY, AND THE LIKE: There isn’t even a passing moment of this selection that isn’t wall-to-wall filth.

Best to download this track and listen independently. Total run time is 10 minutes and 32 seconds; file size is 9.6 megs.

Track 3: “A Thoughtful Analysis of Pat O’Brein’s Sexual Harassment Voicemails”
(right click the above link, “save file as …”)

Songs for Hillary / Further Reax to Vegan Fuckwits

2007-05-17T20:51:00.000-04:00

1. Senator Clinton asks young people to pick her a campaign song; read a brief version of the story here at MSNBC.com. I suggested the only appropriate song: the Soviet National Anthem. Makes her pine for the good old days, when she had the Soviet flag hanging from her wall and no one batted an eye; various boys would drop by, raid her fridge and smoke very low-quality weed. They'd ramble on about capitalist oppressors, Das Kapital and the like, and eventually have awkward sex because they felt compelled to, as failing to do so would have somehow let their generation down. I'd guess she reflects upon those times still, not being smart enough to know there was nothing particularly interesting or good about them....

2. An acquaintance references, on her blog, the story I mentioned here, about the vegans who starved their child to death because they somehow didn't possess the intellectual wherewithal to know babies have to eat (see post from 11 May, below, for link to the story). Left a comment on her blog, and figured I'd also post it here, because I write so rarely these days, I'd like to make sure I give myself proper credit:

"You know what you never see from meat eaters? Smug, self-satisfaction as to their decision to eat meat – and further on that point, you also never see meat eaters dissolve into outraged, tragic fucking minstrel turns whenever someone near them orders a salad (or the like) for dinner, as opposed to a steak.

"Jihadist vegetarians ought be as concerned for their fellow Man as they are for animals (or shrubs, or slugs, et cetera); alas, you’ll find that is rarely the case, or at least that is rarely the case when push comes to shove and they’re forced to choose.

"But that's beside the point. Execute these two motherless whores on the courthouse steps, and let them sit out and rot as a lesson to others. Maybe after enough people use their corpses as a Port-o-San, a consensus (a fine overall point which seems to be lost in every accounting of this story) will begin to spread: There is nothing in the world that will allow you a pass when it comes to the proper care and feeding of innocents, whether you’re a dirt worshiping heathen (like these two Social Darwinists), or someone who eats three steaks a day."

TGO 7 / TGO Radio's Greatest Hits / Vegan Heathens

2007-05-11T22:29:00.000-04:00

Because even if I’m working on something no one will ever read, it’s still better than having no Purpose whatsoever, I’ve narrowed potential ideas for another book (henceforth “TGO 7” until an actual project is decided upon) down to five, and began floating them among a few intimates Thursday afternoon. Close to 11pm Thursday I received a text message from a female I know in Tennessee; she liked two of the five. “Noted,” I typed back. “Thanks.”

But apparently simply voicing a preference wasn’t good enough. In another text message about 30 minutes later, I was informed of the following: “If [one of the ideas] makes someone cry on national TV, I will personally drive to Indiana and give you a blowjob. You can even pull my hair and call me names.”

Brilliant. Hard to argue with that.

Work on “TGO Radio’s Greatest Hits” concluded last week, but I can’t help but think something has been missed, so some more time will be taken to see if other material exists.

Headline: “Vegans Sentenced for Starving Their Baby.” You bet. Here’s the pivotal exchange: “Defense lawyers said the first-time parents did the best they could while adhering to the lifestyle of vegans, who typically use no animal products. They said Sanders and Thomas did not realize the baby, who was born at home, was in danger until minutes before he died.” And we’re not talking about a couple 15-year-olds to whom no one was paying attention; Mom was 27 and Dad was 31, and somehow their lifestyle precluded them from remembering babies need food, or else they’ll die. Fucking heathens. Better to execute these jackasses than put them on the jailhouse rolls.

Update re: Fucking With Stoner Teens

2007-05-08T22:21:00.000-04:00

For those who need to catch up, see the first item on the post below.

About 10.15pm Tuesday night I posted a note for the stoners. On a blank index card I wrote, "is it safe?" with a fat black marker and taped it up where they were standing when I saw them Tuesday afternoon. Will start watching for them about 3pm Wednesday; further developments on this very entertaining waste of time as they warrant.

Stoner Scum / "Spider-Man 3" / "Super Size Me" / Governor Corzine / NFL Draft / TGO7 (?) / Reading

2007-05-08T18:44:00.000-04:00

1) For someone with much too much time on his hands, seeing two kids smoking a joint behind the building next door to mine is like a dream come true. If I linger in the doorway of the study, I can see them there; one white kid and one black kid – the black kid works on getting the joint together while the white kid keeps a look out. They were eventually joined by a big titted girl, but until and unless she starts pulling a train for the two of them, her presence is uninteresting.

I intend on posting notes for them on the wall they were leaning against; further developments as they warrant. This could be a very entertaining week after all.

2) Waiting to see Spider-Man 3? Well hell brother, you may as well wait five more months, rent the DVD and save yourself $10 - $20. You won’t be missing anything.

3) Finally saw Super Size Me a few weeks ago; Propagandist Tripe. Should I think of something as succinct that more graphically gets my thoughts across, I'll let you know.

4) While away I missed the opportunity to comment on New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine’s SUV accident. He was on his way to – um, mediate? – the meeting between Imus the First and the Rutgers ladies basketball team (in all their bulletproof glory) when he went off the road; having almost died in a car, I appreciate his recent struggles.

But, uh, I couldn’t help but notice: no seat belt, speeding, and he was driving a SUV?! Don’t all those things in tandem get you kicked out of the Wacky Liberal Club? If all that weren’t enough, the motorcade taking Governor Corzine from the hospital home was, at times, tooling along at 15 miles per hour over the posted limit with no emergency lights flashing. These lights would have at least made other motorists aware they were presence of someone for whom traffic laws, from front to back, just do not apply.

5) Pleased to announce that for the second consecutive year I beat out a small group of anti-social, like-minded loons to win our annual NFL Draft contest. These were my correct picks, for which I received two points apiece.

One - JaMarcus Russell (quarterback, Louisiana State) to the Oakland Raiders.
Two - Calvin Johnson (wide receiver, Georgia Tech) to the Detroit Lions.
Three - Joe Thomas (tackle, Wisconsin) to the Cleveland Browns.
Four – Gaines Adams (defensive end, Clemson) to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
Five – Levi Brown (tackle, Penn State) to the Arizona Cardinals.
Six – LaRon Landry (safety, Louisiana State) to the Washington Redskins.
Seven – Adrian Peterson (running back, Oklahoma) to the Minnesota Vikings.
Fifteen – Lawrence Timmons (linebacker, Florida State) to the Pittsburgh Steelers.
Twenty-nine – Ben Grubbs (guard, Auburn) to the Baltimore Ravens.

For the second straight year, a late round pick killed the rest of the league; this year on the twenty-ninth pick, last year on the thirty-first. For predicting the Beloved Denver Broncos would draft Jarvis Moss (defensive end, Florida) with the twenty-first pick – it didn’t, but traded up to seventeen to get him – Team TGO received a point for an accurate team-player call, making the grand total of nineteen points. The nearest opponent scored seventeen points.

6) Once Lincoln’s Tomb collapsed, I started thinking of something else to do; something rare and interesting. While chatting with The White Yoko last week, I brought up that old political autobiography idea again, but there’s no point to that. It ought not be written, and besides that, I’m fucking sick of myself.

Something did finally pop into my head late Saturday night / Sunday morning; it rendered me sleepless (to which an unfortunate Law student at The People’s Republic of Columbia University can attest; she was pelted with dopey text messages and one phone call). Will spend a couple weeks looking into the feasibility of the idea.

7) Currently reading Gerald Posner’s book about the Kennedy assassination, Case Closed. Upcoming, The Wages of Destruction, a study of the Nazi economy; another light, breezy read. Between the two, I intend to squeeze in The Education of Ronald Reagan, about the former president’s time at General Motors, and how he evolved into conservatism.

"TGO Radio's Greatest Hits"

2007-05-03T08:44:00.000-04:00

Approximately 57 minutes worth of material has been gathered for the “TGO Radio’s Greatest Hits” compilation, including such undisputed long-form classics as “A Thoughtful Analysis of Pat O’Brien’s Sexual Harassment Voicemails” and “A Thoughtful Analysis of Jenna Lewis’ Home Porn Movie.” The 17 tracks selected range in length from 31 seconds to 11 minutes and 30 seconds.

Here are the tracks selected so far; in roughly the order they will appear in the compilation.

1. "Openings and Beginnings" (5:36)
2. “The Birth of a Running Joke” (:31)
3. “A Thoughtful Analysis of Pat O’Brien’s Sexual Harassment Voicemails” (10:32)
4. “The Old Prostitute’s Home” (2:21)
5. “The Woodchipper” (:33)
6. “The Kid” (1:39)
7. “The Amish” (:46)
8. “The Back Passage” (5:29)
9. “Irony, Catch It” (:50)
10. “Falling Down” (:55)
11. “Random Splotches” (1:00)
12. “The Degenerate” (2:00)
13. “Mike Forbess, Comedic Genius” (3:46)
14. “Ayn Rand Would Love This Show” (2:06)
15. “The Floating McDonald’s” (4:29)
16. “Kosher Pet Food & The Post” (2:08)
17. “A Thoughtful Analysis of Jenna Lewis’ Home Porn Movie” (11:30)

Jeff will have hold of the CD today; hope to have the TGO Radio website up and running in the next few weeks.

"Imus, in Passing (An Essay of Some Length)"

2007-04-23T18:18:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, 17 April 2007

2,921 words

[Author’s note: Final additions and corrections were being made to this essay when the shootings at Virginia Tech occurred, and even though “Imus, in Passing” now seems hopelessly outdated in the face of that tragedy, in the end, I hated to see a nearly 3,000 word piece go to waste. Partial source notes can be found at the conclusion of this essay.]

The reader will please forgive the selfishness of this, but when I first heard about Don Imus’ “nappy-headed ho’s” routine, my first reaction was: Thank God no one ever listened to my Internet radio show. Not because the show was racist or bigoted, but because it was positively overflowing with off-color jokes, and clearly not enough people know the difference between what is vitriol and what is merely silly.

When criticizing Don Imus, what exactly are we criticizing? Other than the racial component (which we’ll get to shortly), not many people have a worthwhile answer to that question. Senator Obama wanted Imus fired, but also wanted it known that his daughters ought not go through life believing female athletes are somehow unfeminine, which is interesting because it proves Obama is the only man of position in the United States familiar with the other half of Imus’ career killing joke. (Something about how the appearance of the Rutgers team reminded him of the Memphis Grizzlies.) Of course, Don Imus has nothing to do with how anyone’s daughter view femininity, and of course Obama’s was a classic dodge designed as a clear play toward female voters, but at least he knew the material.

The byproduct of this incident should be that black Americans feel compelled to finally decide just what should be offensive to black Americans, and why. We know now that “nappy-headed ho’s” is out, but if taken as an honest intellectual exercise, then whoever next refers to Condoleeza Rice as a “house slave” should also be drummed out of respectable business; because if one is racist, so is the other. Same for whoever next refers to Clarence Thomas as an “Uncle Tom.” Same with whoever next alters a picture of Michael Steele to make him look like Sambo.

Ah, but there’s the rub. A preponderance of black Americans aren’t interested in racist and slanderous remarks directed against prominent black Republicans, the belief being that if push comes to shove, prominent black Republicans can defend themselves. Only young black girls can be aggrieved – and only then by crusty old white men, evidenced by the fact that both Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson have fallen all over themselves to explain how the Imus Standard doesn’t apply to black rappers. (Sharpton may have spoken against rap lyrics in the past, but in regards to throwing Imus under a bus, Sharpton has thus far remained unwilling to throw any rapper under there with him.) In other words, “ho” (or worse) only hurts when uttered on talk radio. Understood.

One Rutgers player said she was “scarred for life” by this controversy. Really? Scarred for life? Even while acknowledging that Imus should have known better, it pays to wonder how the same group of young women who possessed the intestinal fortitude to march through the NCAA tournament (including a stunning win over a heavily favored Duke powerhouse along the way) and reach the national championship game could not simply muster the strength to shrug off “nappy-headed ho’s.” Which is it: Are the Rutgers players paragons of strength and power, or are they meek, defenseless little girls?

* * *

Certainly I have no special regard for Don Imus; he’s a mouthpiece for the Democratic party, and as mouthpieces go he’s reckless, reactionary, and before “nappy-headed ho’s” was better known for the caliber of his guests than for the substance of his act. Give me Alan Colmes any day. But what should give pause is the potential chilling effect this could have on any thread of speech deemed improper by an irritated liberal faction. While needlessly bowing at the alter of Reverend Jackson last week, Keith Olbermann brought Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly, Glenn Beck, and Michael Savage into the discussion, basically asking that if Imus can be driven off the air, why can’t they?

This is a preamble for crusades to come. Last Friday’s Wall Street Journal explained how this ball got rolling. In essence, this is how Media Matters runs its day-to-day operations, how it has attempted to rid the airwaves of conservatives in the past, and how it will try again in the near future. Someone assigned to monitor the Imus show was keeping careful notes as the host sputtered along, and at the fateful moment, the minion “clipped the video, alerted his bosses and started working on a blog posting for the organization’s Web site.”

Thus began a cascading effect. “On the morning of the original broadcast, there was little response to Mr. Imus’s slur. Media Matters posted the video and transcript on its Web site and sent an email blast to several hundred reporters, as it does nearly every day…. On Thursday [05 April], at about 3 p.m., NBC News President Steve Capus was conducting a routine planning meeting in his third-floor offices at Rockefeller Center when an assistant interrupted him to take an urgent phone call, according to a person at the meeting. On the other line: MSNBC General Manager Dan Abrams. Mr. Abrams said MSNBC executives were fielding complaints from viewers and employees who had seen a video clip of Mr. Imus’s remark on the Media Matters site, this person says.”

Pause here only to emphasize what has (for most of us) been obvious since Media Matters gained its depressing, sticky prominence among the American Left: MSNBC employees are perusing the Media Matters website. Why? One should forgive plebeians their biases and curiosities – they’re not in the news business. But until and unless Media Matters begins documenting (what it perceives as) the wacky intellectual misgivings of wayward liberals, MSNBC ought not take pride in having one of its employees fished out by other employees looking for the latest updates on The Discredited Right. (I would bet the remainder of my sad career that Keith Olbermann was one of those readers and complainers. Were that I could ask him, but Olbermann only speaks to likeminded interviewers … and for that matter, only to likeminded guests, as well.)

Continuing from the Journal piece: “In Chicago, Bryan Monroe, president of the National Association of Black Journalists, saw an email sent by one of his executive board members at 5:06p.m. ‘FYI – do we need to address’ read the subject line. It was the Media Matters post. Mr. Monroe picked up the phone and started calling other board members. He had guests over for dinner that night, who were also African-American. They talked about the controversy during dinner. Later that night, he was back on the phone with NABJ members and pulled an all-nighter to draft a statement. It said that the 3,200-member organization was ‘outraged and disgusted’ by he comments, and called for ‘an immediate and sincere apology.’ Mr. Monroe posted the statement to the NABJ Web site at 5:30a.m.”

Don Imus was apologizing bright and early the next morning – “Our characterization was thoughtless and stupid, and we’re sorry,” quoted the Journal – but it was too late. Sentiment in every relevant quarter of American thought had turned, or was in the process of turning, against him. When such tides as race bating, fake outrage, and misguided chivalry are driving you down, it’s almost impossible to get back up again. Imus was unemployed on Good Friday, it’s just that no one bothered to tell him until late the following week.

Steve Capus, the aforementioned president of NBC News, said in an interview with David Gregory on Hardball last Wednesday (11 April) that despite certain important advertisers threatening to pull much-needed dollars from the network, “Imus in the Morning” was not dropped from MSNBC’s air for monetary reasons. And Steve Capus is a liar. If it makes him feel better about himself, Capus can languish over the long history of inappropriate comments by Imus and his on-air staff, and go on about how Imus has for many years exhibited this and that type of antisocial behavior. But if you believe that everyone up and down the NBC executive food chain was aware of Imus’ social ticks, and that everyone was worried sick about those ticks, then it’s not unreasonable to wonder why MSNBC extended its live coverage of “Imus in the Morning” (from 6am to 5.30am) a few months ago. Some social conscience!

* * *

What we know about hatred and the Left is that as far as the Left is concerned, hatred is only ever directed against blacks (preferably downtrodden or liberal blacks, thank you), women, gays, and lately Arabs; and is only ever perpetrated by white males. Everything else is categorized as a matter of one’s opinion, or better yet passionate (and, where applicable, political) discourse. Hatred of George W. Bush is no more rational than hatred of blacks; but only hatred of Bush will get you a slot on Air America, or a choice gig clucking alongside that Communist Joy Behar on The View.

For all the rallying Don Imus did against President Bush in the lead-up to the 2004 election – a very large percentage of which came off in terms no more dignified than “nappy-headed ho’s” – the Left demanded not one apology in the name of civility. After all, they were fighting the same battle against the same incumbent president. That was passionate political discourse. (“But Bush is a public figure!” And a group of women competing for a major championship on national television aren’t? Are we to expect that the ladies of Rutgers basketball would like to be role models without anyone noticing them?)

Even if you believe Imus should have been fired in the name of social justice, the idea of having Jesse “Hymie Town” Jackson and Al “Mr. Hitler” Sharpton fighting the battle to unseat him has got to be somewhat unsettling. (Of course everyone remembers “Hymie Town,” but not everyone remembers that “Mr. Hitler” is how Sharpton – overcome by what must have been feelings of peace and brotherhood toward his fellow Man – referred to Robert Abrams, the special prosecutor assigned to the Tawana Brawley case by Mario Quomo.) And there is good reason for your unease; something about pots and kettles screaming at one another in very close quarters.

In the same way we don’t need Teddy Kennedy lecturing us about drunk driving, we don’t need Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton lecturing us about purity of thought and action between the races. No one in modern history, at least to my memory, has intimidated more people and corporations with the very thought of racial strife than has Jackson. He stood together with the Reverend Doctor King in one of the greatest moral struggles the world has ever known – and followed those grand deeds by shaking down businesses for “contributions” with threats of protests and boycotts muttered under his breath. Jackson is no less a carnival barker than Vince McMahon, except that McMahon has the good taste to let you in on the joke.

Still, in an odd way, we’ve come to terms with Jesse Jackson. He’s ignorant of the world he’s criticizing, a liar, and a dope, but his presence has been fading for years now, and fewer and fewer people take him seriously (besides Keith Olbermann, I mean). Floating about Jackson is something Michael Kelly, the late journalist and brilliant writer, once described as “a strong whiff of Who Cares.” Only at times like these are we even cognizant of the fact Jackson is still out there somewhere, lingering, quietly setting up for the next big payday. Al Sharpton, though, is another matter entirely.

About Sharpton I will admit having a constitutional bias. I dislike him immensely; about as much as one can dislike someone he’s never met, having gone so far (several times in this space) as to say Sharpton is a dunce. What passes for his intelligence seems more like a head full of programmed talking points which he somehow manages to string into complete sentences without hurting himself, along the way adding stock rhetorical flourishes to give the illusion of spontaneous thought.

The great unspoken irony of this controversy is drawn from Sharpton’s demand of complete personal and corporate accountability from everyone involved, which is ironic because Sharpton himself has yet to take responsibility for the great disasters he has personally fostered over the years. (Or as Bernard Goldberg so succinctly put it, “Being Al Sharpton means never having to say you’re sorry.”) The myth of Sharpton the Infallible has always existed on intellectually shaky ground, but was first questioned around these parts in a September 2002 essay titled “Al Sharpton, Candidate,” where a transcript of a Sharpton appearance on Meet the Press was liberally quoted to display several of his own personal ticks, including his continued denial of any accountability in the Tawana Brawley hoax.

When asked by Tim Russert whether he would apologize for “promoting the case of Tawana Brawley, which divided New York terribly,” Sharpton matter-of-factly said he still wouldn’t deny Brawley’s charges, which until the Duke Lacrosse lie stood alone as one of the grossest untruths ever forced down the throats of self-hating whites. “Tawana Brawley told her story months before I got involved,” Sharpton explained, “and many others got involved, Bill Cosby and many others, who have never refuted the story. I don’t refute it now [emphasis added].” Not long afterward, Russert asked whether Sharpton actually believed a gang of white men raped Brawley. Sharpton said both that he believed “something happened to her” and that Brawley had “made statements of what happened to her.”

Some may be tempted to dismiss this as far-flung and pointless in the face of modern controversies, but this is not merely a case of a girl and her personal advisors saying dopey things (as in the Imus case). Harry Crist, one of the men Sharpton, Alton Maddox, and C. Vernon Mason falsely accused of raping Brawley, killed himself, and in the aftermath the three were found guilty of fifteen counts of defamation, whereupon they were ordered to pay a former district attorney named Steven Pagones eighty-seven thousand dollars in damages.

More importantly Sharpton, even with blood on his hands, has never given a serious thought to holding himself to the Imus Standard and admitting Brawley lied, taking responsibility for his own flame throwing, or even admitting that he was simply fooled (which would have at least given him some intellectual cover). Now to be fair, this Meet the Press interview is four-and-a-half years old, which is why I undertook an extensive search of the Internet before writing this essay, in search of Sharpton’s mea culpa for the part he played in this gross miscarriage of justice. You won’t be surprised to know I didn’t find one.

All this is to say nothing of the Freddy’s Fashion Mart fiasco, which is an equally long and sad story, or the various problems he’s had paying rent on office space, or his refusal to refute a statement by Louis Farrakhan calling for a Nuremberg trial for American presidents, or his hobnobbing with Khalid Muhammad, et cetera, ad infinitum. Individually these would be bad enough. Collectively they’re indicative of a much larger problem, namely that Sharpton is often more reckless, irresponsible, and incendiary than Don Imus, but never to his detriment. And if you’re in New York City, you can still hear Sharpton on the radio.

The point is that Don Imus isn’t representative of whatever may vex the black community, but Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton are. But between the three, blacks perceive only Imus as a disgrace.

* * *

All this having been said, the primary questions remain: 1) Is Don Imus a racist? and 2) Should he have been fired? About these I have significantly less to say than everything else here, but my standing is no less resolute. No, Imus is not a racist. But he is an idiot, and while that’s nowhere near as bad as being a racist, idiocy can be fatal when put on wide display, as in this case.

As to whether he should have been fired, I stand in the “No” camp, having said from the beginning that “nappy-headed ho’s” didn’t seem like a death penalty offense, but that the free market would work things out. If only that had been the case. Oh, enough advertisers made enough noise that the exodus certainly gave the appearance of a spontaneous free market reaction, but the smell of threatened boycotts (and et cetera, in the Jackson tradition) comes too strong.

Having nothing upon which to base my suspicion other than the suspicion itself, I would again bet the remainder of this sad writing career that if one could get hold of various internal memorandum concerning the Imus affair, he would learn that most of the companies contemplating pullouts were overly concerned with being viewed as responsible social partners (or whatever the popular vernacular). You might call companies dropping advertising under these circumstances a free market movement; I would call it being muscled.

In any event, once advertisers began abandoning Imus in droves, NBC and CBS had no choice but to drop the hammer. Whatever their various faults, neither NBC nor CBS are in business to provide programming just for the quixotic thrill of doing so. They exist to make profits and to pass value on to their shareholders. (NBC is obviously owned by General Electric and trades under the ticker symbol “GE”; CBS split from Viacom in January 2006 and now trades under the ticker symbol “CBS.”) Meddle with that process long enough and you eventually butt up against the truth: Corporate responsibility is all well and good, but there’s a reason they call it “profit motive.”

Notes. (If you find dead links, send an email to brianwisedotcom@gmail.com and a copy of the source material you request will be emailed to you, except in the case of the Wall Street Journal piece quoted.)

1. One Rutgers player said she was “scarred for life” by this controversy. See, for example, “'This has scarred me for life,' Rutgers player says of Imus' comment,” from the Vancouver Sun, dated Wednesday, 11 April, here: http://www.canada.com/vancouversun/news/arts/story.html?id=b5a14b21-0add-4656-8243-277528c6cfc1&k=61817

2. While needlessly bowing at the alter of Reverend Jackson last week … see transcript from Countdown dated 11 April 2007, Olbermann’s interview with Jackson, here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18075483/

3. Last Friday’s Wall Street Journal explained how this ball got rolling. See “Behind the Fall of Imus, a Digital Brush Fire” by Brooks Barnes, Emily Steel and Sarah McBride in the Friday 13 April 2007 edition of The Wall Street Journal, pages A1 and A10. Only a dead tree copy is on file.

4. Steve Capus, the aforementioned president of NBC News, said in an interview with David Gregory on Hardball … see transcript from Hardball dated 11 April 2007, 7pm edition, Gregory’s interview with Capus, here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18078015/

5. Floating about Jackson is something Michael Kelly, the late journalist and brilliant writer, once described as “a strong whiff of Who Cares.” See Kelly’s book Things Worth Fighting For, published posthumously, page 86.

6. Or as Bernard Goldberg so succinctly put it, “Being Al Sharpton means never having to say you’re sorry.” See Goldberg’s book 100 People Who Are Screwing Up America, page 250.

7. “Al Sharpton, Candidate” can most easily be found in my book The Unabrian Manifesto, available online at www.brianwise.com/UnabrianBook.htm, pages 32 through 37.

2006 TGO Awards

2007-04-07T04:09:00.000-04:00

2006 Album of the Year: The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

2006 Song of the Year: "Vicarious" by Tool

2006 Movie of the Year: Clerks 2 (written and directed by Kevin Smith; produced by Scott Mosier)

2006 Television Show of the Year: Deadwood, season three (HBO)

2006 Man Card: Jason McElwain; one of the greatest stories ever told.

As I do every year, and fail to do every year, I promise that a complete list of TGO Award winners will be available here soon.

Google's Broadband Product Works Through Your Toilet.

2007-04-01T16:29:00.000-04:00

http://www.google.com/tisp/install.html

(Yes, I am aware it's April 1st.)

Mr. and Mrs. Edwards / Lincoln Aftermath / IC & Me / Et Cetera

2007-03-23T15:32:00.000-04:00

It’s terrible news about Elizabeth Edwards and her latest battle against cancer.

Wishing Mrs. Edwards the best (which, of course, I do) doesn’t mean we cannot – and should not – firmly yet politely say that John Edwards is not much of a man for remaining in the race for President.

Never mind how Mrs. Edwards feels now. She is facing chemotherapy for the remainder of her life, as well as medications that will weaken her to some unknown degree; as a father of young children, Candidate Edwards’ first obligation is to his family, and I find it a special vulgarity that Edwards thinks more of continuing a political race he cannot win than performing his rightful duties as a husband and father. And that’s all.

* * *

Spent this week ridding myself of all Lincoln related research material. Working under the “out of sight = out of mind” paradigm, the Lincoln’s Tomb page at BrianWise.com was removed Monday morning, and every piece of research gathered in the previous 14 months was either deleted, copied to a CD-RW, or moved to the study at the back of the house, in a box at the bottom of the archive. Out of sight, out of mind.

What began as a begrudging acceptance of the project’s end flowered into a full-blown depression by Tuesday – wish I could tell you I’ve rebounded. A few people wrote or called to express their low-grade condolences; Jeff Curran, former co-host of the TGO Radio, left a message but I’ve yet to call him back. (Now he knows what it’s like. If only he would start a radio show and ask me to co-host so that I could walk off the thing, twice, with no warning …)

Leonard Steinhorn, of American University, who hasn’t spoken to me for months (for reasons I cannot quite identify), answered my email with what amounted to a nice “atta boy.” It was Steinhorn who thought enough of my idea to help me write a very early short treatment, and then forward it to his literary agent, which is as extraordinary an act as I’ve known throughout my writing career. His agent basically dismissed it (“Tell your friend we’ll get hold of him” or the like; a classic kissoff), and even though he’s not speaking to me, I’ll never forget that gesture.

Shane St. Hollister – editor of The Greatest Trust and The 5 Minutes of Silence, and proofreader of The Unabrian Manifesto – answered the announcement by hoping the death of Lincoln’s Tomb “doesn’t deter you from writing, even if you take a sabbatical before you resume.” He knows me well enough to know my first reaction to large setbacks is to retreat, and this time around has been no exception. The only difference this time is that my slate is finally clear; now there is absolutely nothing holding me to hopes of a career that just will not materialize.

Just Wednesday it occurred to me that for someone who’s such a failure, I’m very stable. Most aspects of life with my son and his mother are rolling along nicely (the one bump being his grades, which showed signs of improvement with the last progress report). I’ve worked in the same office for nearly eight years and lived in the same home for five; I owe no large debt to any one person or institution; my car is paid for; my utilities are covered; my love life – when it interests me enough to pursue one – goes along smoothly. Hell, even my cats are healthy and well fed. I’m broke as hell, but in the areas that matter, I’m unbelievably stable.

But my life is half over. The realization that I have abandoned important things and spent so many years in pursuit of a career that will, it seems clear now, never materialize has hit me very, very hard. Being this unsure of what will come next feels a lot like standing in a field in the middle of nowhere – there’s just nothing, for as far as the eye can see. The lack of purpose sits in my chest.

Never mind whether I have the talent to continue. Talent isn’t a concern. When I’m “on,” I honestly believe there isn’t a better non-syndicated columnist anywhere. The concern is that I will teeter into my forties struggling to hold onto a dream that really doesn’t interest me all that much anymore, and that cannot exist, but that I feel compelled to continue pursuing because all I’ve ever been able to do is write.

* * *

My initial “distribution deal” with the website IntellectualConservative.com (to post all eight of the new columns so that I could better judge public reaction to them) fell apart almost immediately. When I first called Rachel Alexander – she owns IC and I’ve known her personally for many years now – my aim was simply to ask her advice: If eight new “In Dissent” columns were written, where would she suggest I put them to best gauge reaction? She readily volunteered IC, an offer I found generous and accepted.

Within three days of my submitting the first column, 14 February’s “Anna Nicole Smith: Still Dead (And Other Observations),” I received an email from Rachel stating there were two objections to the column. These were not her protests, but instead those of her two brothers, to whom she inexplicably entrusted IC’s day-to-day operations some time ago. “I know you would probably be upset if I changed those two lines,” she wrote, “so I'm asking you if it's ok.” She was right, bless her heart.

Here are the lines in question, and the stated objections:

First Line: “Whilst swinging around a pole, she [Smith] managed to restore some long lost feeling to the groin of a dilapidated old billionaire, and the next thing you know she’s in line for an inheritance.”

Objection: The word “groin.”

Reaction: Nearing the end of my original run as lead columnist at IC, I wrote a column in which I said that terrorists understand only two things: Being blown to bits and dogs snarling at their crotches (e.g., in the Abu Ghraib photos). IC refused to publish the column after I refused to change the word “crotch.” That was an editorial decision Rachel made herself. In a conversation between the two of us in the aftermath, she suggested I would have done better to use “groin.”

Now here was an instance where “groin” was the better fit – having to do with the flow and tone of the work; i.e., more playful than severe – and it was found objectionable. I argued forcefully, then and now, that if IC feels so compelled to edit its writers (a practice I find objectionable for a wide variety of reasons), it must adopt and maintain an editing standard, and not make it up on the fly.

Second Line: “Yeah, well, if I were married to [Zsa Zsa] Gabor, I’d be looking for young mistresses, too.”

Objection: Editors said that line “will haunt us later as a sexist remark about women.”

Reaction: In the same column, I referred to Bobby Trendy as a “poofy, spectacularly gay (and unintentionally hilarious) interior decorator,” with no nail biting on IC’s part about offending gays in the future.

In the same piece I wrote that media reacted to Smith’s death as though “a former president was found hanged in a bathhouse,” again with no concern.

Furthermore, “Never underestimate the sheer will of a stuffy older child unwilling to allow his old man the luxury of fondling a much younger wife in his final years” passed muster without a sniff.

You get the point. It’s difficult to sufficiently explain in a small space what has gone wrong at Intellectual Conservative since I left in August 2004. I can tell you it was starting to go bad, very bad, when I left; I can tell you that hyper-sensitive over-editing is why I resigned the best gig of my life; and I can tell you the site has spiraled out of control since she surrendered control to her brothers, neither of whom could write or edit their ways out of a bag of wet hair. Beyond that, I’m at a loss.

In an email dated 17 February, Rachel complained about the changes her brothers have made – “Trust me, this is not out of the ordinary these days, my brother edits all of our writers considerably. He's pretty much taken over the site btw, if you'll notice, he got rid of all my goofy pictures on the sides (even took away my blogs [sic] posts on the articles pages)” – but appears disinterested in correcting the mistakes she’s made and salvaging what was once a fine website.

At first I wrote in reply only, “Do not post that column.”

Later that night (17 February), I responded at greater length (only part of which is posted here, because even though I make a point of conducting my “writing career” as transparently as possible, a lot of the email addresses her personally, and none of that stuff is any of your fucking business):

“When logic dictated I sacrifice my career and leave IC, it broke my heart. Literally. It felt like I was turning my back on my sister. But you had turned to a drastic, overly moralistic over-editing, the kind that reached too far beyond common sense, the kind that refused to let a spade be called a spade when it came to thinking about and dealing with the dirt worshipers, and in the end it seemed better to put the gun to my writing career's head [and I sure as fuck did that] than to allow it to be overseen by the rough intellectual equivalent of the PMRC. I thought, ‘Rachel has clearly turned her back on what's best for the website’…. I care for you. But I cannot let you break my heart again. When you fell like taking your website back, let me know. Until then I must stand … with my back turned to you.”

So that’s what happened with distribution. If I had the money, I would buy that website and give it the dignified end it deserves, as opposed to letting two ignoramuses run the thing into the ground. A Viking funeral would be better than seeing it mismanaged to death.

I miss Rachel. Maybe I should call her and tell her so. But she doesn’t care, and other than the two emails I’ve sent her in the last five weeks, which she hasn’t answered, I consider her a loss. Which is terrible, because I genuinely care for her a great deal.

* * *

The question is, Have we now finally arrived at The End of Things? Meaning, is it finally time to start concerning myself with adult things and leave the rest behind? No one else I know has attained my age and continued to hold on to the now shattered notions of their (very) early twenties. When I announced last May that I was “leaving public life,” what I meant was that retirement from writing (excepting the Lincoln book, an idea too good to shelve) seemed the best, most logical course.

Then I pounded out that Ann Coulter essay last June, and the next thing you know, Bernard Goldberg sends an email to say I’d written a “smart piece,” and a few weeks later he’s complimenting The Unabrian Manifesto, even going so far as to write a blurb for it (which is plastered all over BrianWise.com). Add to that the fact Lincoln’s Tomb, even in the research phase, was getting just a little buzz behind it, and things looked all right.

Thomas Craughwell’s wonderful book Stealing Lincoln’s Body rendered my book unnecessary, and IC’s rejecting the “In Dissent” column brings me to a point where literally nothing substantive is happening. A natural break.

The Undusputed End of Higher Education

2007-03-20T14:13:00.000-04:00

WWE® RAW® Announcer Jim Ross™ Kicks Off Pro Wrestling Lecture Series At MIT

CAMBRIDGE, Mass., March 15, 2007 –"The Voice of Monday Night RAW" Jim Ross will kick off a series of class presentations and lectures involving WWE [World Wrestling Entertainment] personalities to be held at MIT this semester as part of a Comparative Media Studies course focused on pro wrestling in America.

"Good Ol' J.R." Jim Ross will be speaking to students on Wednesday, March 21, and Thursday, March 22, to share his thoughts on the growth of pro wrestling into a global phenomenon through his experience as one of the greatest wrestling announcers ever in the business, as well as his role in handling talent relations and business development for World Wrestling Entertainment® (WWE). Ross will share experiences from his many years in the television industry, as the wrestling industry has moved from TV syndication to cable to pay-per-view to prime time broadcast television, and now to digital media, including DVD, video on demand, the web and mobile phones.

His appearance will culminate in a lecture to students and the public in Room 4-370 at 5 p.m. on March 22 entitled, "This One's Gonna Be a Slobberknocker: A Q&A with WWE's "Good Ol' J.R." Jim Ross," moderated by Sam Ford, the class instructor.

In addition to being the voice of WWE's "Monday Night RAW" on the USA Network and the former voice of Turner Broadcasting's World Championship Wrestling™, Jim Ross has served as Executive Vice President of Broadcasting for WCW® and as both Vice President of Talent Relations and Executive Vice President of Business Strategies for WWE. He is also a weekly college football columnist and runs his own blog and online Bar-B-Q store at http://www.jrsbarbq.com/

Also scheduled to appear as part of the series is former WWE Champion and New York Times best-selling author Mick Foley™. He will lecture for two classes in April and offer a lecture to students and the public in room 54-100 on 5 p.m. on Thursday, April 12 entitled, "The Real World's Faker than Wrestling: Former WWE Champion and Best-Selling Author Mick Foley."

Foley, one of the top wrestling performers of the past decade, will talk about his own years as an entertainer and how he transitioned from a world of athletic storytelling into a world of storytelling with the written word, as he is a multiple-time bestselling author who has written three memoirs, two novels, and a variety of children's books. Foley will discuss his experience with telling stories in a variety of written and performance genres, and how he has managed to bridge across multiple genres and entertainment forms. He will also talk about his management of multiple personas within the pro wrestling world, the range of characters he portrayed that have often been considered the many faces of Foley.

Foley has been a professional wrestler since the mid-1980s and was a headlining star for World Wrestling Entertainment under the personas of Mankind, Cactus Jack, and Dude Love, all of whom were facets of the overall character, Mick Foley. He continues to wrestle and portray his character on occasion for the WWE and has just finished his third memoir, Hardcore Diaries, following the best-selling Have a Nice Day!: A Tale of Blood and Sweatsocks and Foley is Good...and the Real World is Faker than Wrestling. [The latter two books are owned by this poster.]

For more on the MIT CMS colloquia series, look here:http://cms.mit.edu/events/colloquiaforums.php

WWE Superstar and Harvard Alumni Chris Nowinski™ will be speaking to MIT students on Wednesday May 9. In class, Nowinski will be talking the crossover between wrestling and academics, and will focus on his experiences in and out of the WWE ring. Nowinksi recently made headlines with his book, Head Games: Football's Concussion Crisis from the NFL to Youth Leagues. The book has fostered a close look at how the NFL and youth football leagues handle the consequences of multiple concussions and has been the catalyst for investigative coverage on the issue in national publications such as the New York Times, ESPN and Sports Illustrated.

Ford's class, entitled Topics in Comparative Media, focuses on the history of American professional wrestling and its place in popular culture. Ford will graduate in June with a Master's degree from the Comparative Media Studies department. While at MIT, he has worked as a media analyst for the MIT Convergence Culture Consortium, located at http://www.convergencecutlure.org.

The students in the class participate in a public class blog, which can be found at http://mitcmsprowrestling.blogspot.com./ More information on the Comparative Media Studies program can be found at http://cms.mit.edu.

For more information on these events, contact the MIT Comparative Media Studies program at cms@mit.edu

"Lincoln's Tomb" - R.I.P.

2007-03-19T08:38:00.000-04:00

Monday, 19 March; 424am.

Cindy VanHorn, Registrar and Library Assistant at the Abraham Lincoln Museum in Fort Wayne, Indiana, was the first to alert me to an article in the Des Moines Register regarding Stealing Lincoln’s Body by Thomas J. Craughwell (Belknap Press of Harvard Press, 250 pages, $24.95).

According to the article, “[Craughwell’s] story begins in Washington, D.C., at the president's deathbed on April 15, 1865, and ends with Lincoln's final burial on Sept. 26, 1901, in a steel cage under a concrete bunker in Springfield, Ill.

“By the end, the martyred president had been laid to rest a half-dozen times. Twice, in 1887 and 1901, the inner lead lining of Lincoln's casket was peeled back for identification purposes by members of a secret society that was created to guard Lincoln's body following after the failed grave robbery.”

As my book sounded suspiciously like Craughwell’s, it made sense to temporarily suspend substantive research until I had a better idea what I was up against. Clearly, if Craughwell’s book only glanced over the topics I hoped to cover in Lincoln’s Tomb, then continuing with my own research made sense. If not, not.

Despite several websites reporting the book wouldn't be released until the first of April, I spied a copy at Barnes and Noble on Sunday night, 18 March; began reading about 9pm and, with a few starts and stops, finished about 330am Monday.

First of all, let me say that I cannot recommend Stealing Lincoln’s Body highly enough. As I explained in an email to Cindy VanHorn this morning, the book is well researched, well written, thoughtful, and thorough; I would recommend it to anyone and hope that a large number of people within the reach of these words will buy a copy. I have no substantive complaint with the thing.

But it also renders my book wholly useless, so all work on Lincoln’s Tomb will conclude today, Monday, 19 March.

"On Taking Offense"

2007-03-14T18:59:00.000-04:00

14 March 2007
777 words

For those who missed Ann Coulter’s gay joke at John Edwards’ expense (“I was going to have a few comments on the other Democratic presidential candidate, John Edwards, but it turns out that you have to go into rehab if you use the word ‘faggot.’”), you should know that contrary to most reports, the assembled audience did not dissolve into mammoth laughter and applause – but there was enough to suggest the reaction Coulter got wasn’t simple politeness.

Jokes fail for a variety of reasons (other than not being funny). In this case, I’m not sure enough people understood Coulter’s backhanded reference to Isaiah Washington, a prime time quality actor (that is no compliment) who stars in a dry hump of a show called Grey’s Anatomy, and who recently checked himself into rehab after calling a fellow cast member “faggot.” (Rehab for what, we’ll never know. Better he spend the money on acting lessons.) But for the most part, “Edwards is gay” just doesn’t make sense, and no sober audience should rescue any speaker from a premise that flawed.

Not enough to let Coulter flounder on stage, Edwards responded by prattling on about the politics of personal destruction (or the Two Americas, or something – does anyone pay attention to his speeches anymore?) as hordes of self-hating flapping heads ran to the nearest camera to exorcise themselves of the heartfelt belief that making gay jokes is a horrible, horrible thing, on par with genocide and cancer and dead kittens, et cetera.

Meanwhile, how many of those gravely offended by Coulter’s insult have given a second (or first) thought to the two virulently anti-Catholic bloggers Candidate Edwards hired to assist on the Internet side of his campaign (such as it is)? Amanda Marcotte and Melissa McEwan both resigned after being exposed and derided by the likes of Bill O’Reilly and Bill Donohue; Marcotte for writing things like, “What if Mary had taken Plan B after the Lord filled her with his hot, white, sticky Holy Spirit?” and McEwan for things like, “[N]ow we turn our backs on the advancements that will define the twenty-first century … turning instead to the imaginary tradition of a governing Judeo-Christian ethic, forged only in the small minds of religious zealots, rather than actual history.” Gee whiz.

“Resigned” ought not be confused with “fired.” “Fired” would have suggested Edwards is capable of taking a moral stand not first sanctioned by MoveOn.org (which really would have been something). While claiming to be “personally offended” by such remarks, Edwards was willing to keep Marcotte and McEwan on board in the interest of giving folks “a fair shake,” never mind how quickly they’d have been bounced had they a history of dropping “faggot” into their (poorly written) blog posts.

To the trained observer, the fact Edwards didn’t see fit to turn the other cheek to Coulter, but did to his staff, translates into an interesting peculiarity: For John Edwards, gays matter more than Catholics. Which is fine if your job is to troll about the Internet for a living, something else altogether if you want to be President of the United States, where that sort of clear bias can be damaging. The seventeen serious Democrats still supporting Edwards should hope the former senator is as bothered by hatred of Catholics amongst his pivotal staff as he is a bad fag joke hurled at him by a distant commentator, about whom he could care less.

Now, why would a homosexual’s taking offense to a candidate’s non-action matter more than a Catholic’s taking offense? Well, Edwards has made a gamble based upon the direction of things within his party: If a liberal candidate is even rumored to be abandoning gays (e.g., by not responding forcefully enough to things like Coulter’s poorly constructed joke), he will lose virtually all of Democratism in the pink and feathery aftermath. But if the same liberal forsakes Catholics, he’ll lose only a comparatively few Democrats, which is a chance Edwards is much more willing to take.

I’ve often wondered something. Let’s say you’ve splattered a depiction of Mary with elephant dung, or dropped a crucifix into a jar of urine; in the liberal consciousness, you have (somehow) created art. Now let’s say you fling those same droppings onto an impressionist painting of Gloria Steinem, or remove the crucifix from that jar and replace it with a laminated, two-sided picture of Jack and Bobby Kennedy – then what do you have? Do the liberals who ridiculed those Jesus Christers for their full-throated opposition to Ofili’s “The Virgin Mary” or Serrano’s “Piss Christ” still have the same open mind, or have we then moved on to another plane?

2007-03-12T08:26:00.000-04:00

Column: "Kenneth Eng is Not Smart"

2007-03-07T08:08:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, 07 March 2007
758 words

It was one of those conversations you stumble across by happenstance but cannot turn away from; like a bad accident in the lane opposite yours, where you crane your neck to see what’s happening. Sorry to say I missed most of John Gibson’s interview with (now former) Asian Week columnist Kenneth Eng conducted Monday afternoon, but managed in my brief exposure to get the upshot: Eng hates blacks and whites, but especially blacks, has no problem saying so and in fact did, in a column titled “Why I Hate Blacks” first posted at AsianWeek.com on Friday, 23 February.

“Here is a list of reasons why we should discriminate against blacks,” Eng begins, “starting from the most obvious down to the least obvious. [Point one:] Blacks hate us [Asians]. Every Asian who has ever come across them knows that they take almost every opportunity to hurl racist remarks at us. In my experience, I would say about 90 percent of blacks I have met, regardless of age or environment, poke fun at the very sight of an Asian. Furthermore, their activity in the media proves their hatred: Rush Hour, Exit Wounds, Hot 97, etc.” (For those unaware, I’ll save you the trouble of having to find out that Hot 97 is one in a long string of awful “urban” radio stations, headquartered in New York City.)

“Their activity in the media” offhandedly suggests blacks generally have their way in the media, which will come as some surprise to the Jews who actually control the media. Just kidding. But by reading and understanding my joke, you get some idea of my initial reaction to Eng’s column: I went looking for the punchline. Surely Eng is attempting to make a point through offbeat social satire … I scanned the piece again, looking for a hint of sarcasm, or irony, or wit; then again, and again. Instead what I found was:

“Contrary to media depictions, I would argue that blacks are weak-willed. They are the only race that has been enslaved for 300 years. It’s unbelievable that it took them that long to fight back. On the other hand, we slaughtered the Russians in the Japanese-Russo war.”

A tremendous amount of weight rests in that phrase – “on the other hand.” Eng is hoping the reader will take for granted a corollary between war and slavery and not give it a second thought. Conducted between February 1904 and September 1905, the Russo-Japanese war (as it’s more commonly called) carries over slavery the unique distinction of actually being a war fought between nations, whereas slavery was a human trafficking business. Parsed correctly, no part of the thought makes even the slightest bit of sense.

Anyway, I’ll admit to being at somewhat of a loss to explain what Eng means. He is either ignorant of, or indifferent to, the long record of slave uprisings throughout American history (to say nothing of what may have occurred before the States became united), but in either case should be made aware of the violence put forth to quell said uprisings. Not knowing of Nat Turner’s Rebellion (the largest slave revolt in our history, 1831) should in no way preclude any columnist from typing “slave uprising” into a search engine and getting himself a working knowledge of the subject as a whole. Not that knowing would change his mind, but it may have kept him from writing, “It’s unbelievable that it took them that long to fight back.”

“Why I Hate Blacks” goes on as above, but becomes no more coherent. Modern Americans are tempted from the first to deconstruct Eng’s prejudice as a means of understanding him. This is one of our most irritating traits as a culture; understanding why someone is a racist isn’t nearly as important as simply knowing he is, but for some reason it will make us feel better to know what drives him, as though our knowing will somehow clear his mind of plain idiocies.

A transcript of Eng’s interview with John Gibson is posted at FoxNews.com, for both posterity’s and hilarity’s sake. Question (paraphrased): So, you’ve written that you hate blacks, whites, and Asians. Do you really hate all those people? Eng: “Well, I generally hate black and white people, but the Asian article was sarcastic. It's kind of like the sarcasm I had in my novel, in which dragons slay tons and tons of humans. But this relates to — in the sense that dragons logically follow evolution so they would be able to wield metal.”

Aha. That explains everything. Thanks, Kenneth.

Column: "Hillary Clinton, in Danger of Decline"

2007-03-07T08:06:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, 28 February 2007
777 words

When you hear pro-Clinton Democrats wonder aloud whether Barack Obama is qualified to be president, feel free to ask exactly what Hillary Clinton has done to make her imminently more qualified than Senator Obama, or anyone else in the field. Senator Clinton has served one full term (and about two months of a second term) in the Senate but has held no other office. This means she has only four more years of on-the-job experience than Obama, unless you count the eight years she spent sticking her nose into her husband’s business.

The Constitution sets rather pedestrian limits for who can be president: If you were born here, have maintained a residence in-country for fourteen years and have aged thirty-five years, you too can add your name to the list of intellectual malcontents hoping to push the United States even closer to full blown socialism. Of course, “qualified to be president” means something extra-constitutional in the modern parlance, and differs depending on which party is eyeballing the candidates. Republicans tend to lean toward pro-life, pro-family, small government, no-new-taxes / lower tax contenders, someone of the brand who will say, “When it concerns the United States and / or its allies, we must stare down the dirt worshipers and make them blink and bend to our will, never vice versa.” Democrats … well, Democrats lean in opposite directions.

Except that in the case of Obama and Clinton, “qualified to be president” means something above and beyond even the modern parlance. Both are cookie-cutter liberals; both are old world socialists; and if left to their own devices, they will each take virtually the same stance on almost every issue facing the electorate. The fight is over the direction of the Democratic party as a whole.

For Clinton supporters, there is a “business as usual” feel to her candidacy, a sentiment predicated upon the belief that everything worked out so well for Bill Clinton (in a manner of speaking), there’s no reason not to trust the sequel. Meanwhile, those supporting Obama have developed a distinct feeling that Democratism must modernize to remain relevant; that it shouldn’t carry such a stilted, stale, inherited sense about it. This speaks to the obvious truth: Hillary Clinton’s candidacy is nothing if not an inherited movement. Never mind the Democratic nomination – how close would Mrs. Clinton be to the Senate if her husband hadn’t been president? Suppose Bill Clinton abandons the governorship and goes straight to the private sector; in that instance, Hillary Clinton has no more chance of winning the presidency in 2008 than I do.

Said another way, a lot of Democrats are tired of seeing and hearing Hillary Clinton, but too few will be upfront about saying so, in case they have to hitch their cart to her later on (i.e., if Obama fails to secure the nomination). What made David Geffen’s comments so interesting was his willingness to flatly declare his dislike for Clinton while thinking nothing of the aftermath. This is what true conviction looks like. Geffen won’t vote for a Republican, and would never counsel a fellow Democrat to do so, but through his public objection has made it plainly known that he’ll only vote for Clinton if he can hold his nose at the same time.

In the pantheon of political mistakes, overstaying your welcome is one of the most severe, as voters tend to lose patience with anyone seen lingering in the spotlight for too long. The Clinton campaign’s immediate, visceral reaction to Geffen’s interview shows not only that she’s scared of Obama’s growing popularity, especially among blacks, but also that she is keenly aware this is her one real shot at the presidency. Oh, she can run again as many times as she’d like, but you can count the number of failed, major party re-nominees on one hand. She knows her time is short.

Question: Is Hillary Clinton in danger of slipping badly this far removed from the nation’s first primary? Well, there is only so much slippage a tightly controlled candidate can manage without first killing a puppy on stage, but yes, she is in danger. Clinton whips Obama in name recognition and nothing else; he is smoother, more honest, and more likeable than Clinton. Unless Obama himself takes to puppy slaughter, he will spend the spring and summer familiarizing himself with as many Democrats and fence sitters as possible. He may not surpass Clinton in the polls, but Obama will create greater distance between himself and third place, which will leave the Clinton campaign puzzled as primaries draws closer. Trust me when I tell you: Legitimate competition has no place in Clinton campaign strategy.

"Al Franken for Senate (?)"

2007-02-21T18:20:00.000-05:00

Wednesday, 21 February 2007
715 words

As Al Franken sat broadcasting his last radio show, one couldn’t help but get a tingly, “our long national nightmare is over” feeling. Air America started as an intellectual abortion and continued downward from there, failing at every conceivable turn to implement financial restraint or quality control measures, in the end deciding it was easier to beg liberal billionaires for more funding than to make itself worthy of free market success. Good riddance to bad rubbish, and all that.

But Franken, not one to know when he’s overstayed his welcome, took the occasion to announce he’s running for Senate. And if that weren’t funny enough, he’s seeking the Democratic nomination – which is interesting, because one would think he’d feel more at home lingering amongst Communists, hoping to secure their approval. Or the Socialist Party of Minnesota, or the Greens, or some other small, loosely confederated band of filthy malcontents too drunk or high to build and maintain an official website.

Question: Why do people who couldn’t win a one-man race for dogcatcher insist on running for important offices? Ask Franken that question and he’ll probably recite for you the exact number of times Bill Clinton was told he couldn’t win the Democratic nomination for president. Next thing you know, Clinton is second only to Paul Tsongas in New Hampshire and a few months away from winning High Office. No doubt Franken thinks he can shock the world, but whoever has the job of telling Franken the truth is falling far short of their duties. Bill Clinton was a once-in-a-lifetime politician, that combustible yet oddly attractive blend of snake oil salesman and cool step-dad; a frivolous man for frivolous times.

Not only is Al Franken not Bill Clinton in frivolous times, he has the great misfortune of being Al Franken in very serious times. Granted, lesser men have been elevated to higher positions; and granted, Franken has spent the last few years familiarizing himself with Minnesota politics. He’s also terrifically unpleasant and shrill, and when not being unpleasant and shrill, so boring he brings the listener to tears. Take his campaign announcement (please). Someone somewhere may find it compelling, but after about four minutes the tedium becomes unceasing. It’s no wonder he has three number one bestselling books and a failed radio show; even for true believers, Franken is best seen and not heard.

So Franken will have to discover and strike a delicate balance between shrill tirades and monotonous chants, or invent an entirely new campaign persona, all while keeping his eyes to the prepared text. More than anyone else hoping to unseat Norm Coleman, Candidate Franken must employ scriptwriters he can trust – if left to his own devices, he’s incapable of censoring himself before it’s to late. (In political terms, “too late” is that moment just after you hear yourself muttering “Hymie Town,” or similar.)

You can take the man out of comedy, but you cannot take comedy out of the man. Though significantly more stilted in delivery now than when he was younger and interesting, Franken’s first instinct is still to find and deliver the most provocative line. (If you’ve seen him interviewed on Hardball at any point in the last few years, you know what this means.) Which is fine when you’re cracking wise and defending yourself against drunks at the Chuckle Hut, not so much if you’re trying to convince fellow Democrats you’re better than the other candidates. It’s one thing to preach to the choir, those 37 Minnesotans who listened to his radio show on a consistent basis. It’s something else altogether to make yourself appealing to moderates, about whom Franken has virtually no knowledge.

That Franken cannot win is a foregone conclusion (the Clinton paradigm aside). Only fellow travelers will ever find him the most attractive candidate; in other words, old world socialists who were willing to follow him off a cliff long before he ever announced a candidacy. For thoughtful, reasonable Democrats, the endgame is to defeat Norm Coleman in November 2008, not to nominate a man who would be vivisected by his own words months before Election Day. For those so inclined, Franken will provide an ideological chortle here and there, but on the whole should be out of the race before Minnesota Democrats make their decision.

Anna Nicole Smith: Still Dead (And Other Observations)

2007-02-14T17:05:00.000-05:00

Surprise! Here's a column, making the post of two days ago a complete lie. I starting sketching this column out Tuesday night, and was able to finish it in about three hours here on Wednesday. It seemed foolish to sit on it until next week; so here you go.

"Anna Nicole Smith: Still Dead (And Other Observations)"

14 February 2007

830 words

When conservatives go on about how too many Americans linger far too long over unimportant and silly things, the death of Anna Nicole Smith is precisely what they have in mind. Had you turned on the news last Friday, ignorant of the matter and blind to the screen, you wouldn’t have been wrong to guess a former president was found hanged in a bathhouse, such was the tone of the coverage. Come to find out, no, it was just Anna Nicole. What a relief. Not wanting to be altogether insensitive on the matter, I text messaged an acquaintance and asked if she’d thought enough to include Smith in her 2007 Dead Pool. (Gallows humor. Not quite to the level of, “Other than all that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” but close.)

Anna Nicole Smith had nothing inside her recommending fame or fortune. She was all looks, when she had them, and when she finally realized there was nothing else to her, she hid behind drugs and plastic surgery to keep herself from having to think about it.

Smith went from the trailer park to Playboy, to Guess jeans ads, then to the strip club (which is often par for the nude modeling course). Whilst swinging around a pole, she managed to restore some long lost feeling to the groin of a dilapidated old billionaire, and the next thing you know she’s in line for an inheritance. Shockingly, the groom dies before the bride. The billionaire’s son, sensing an old-fashioned money grab, takes Smith to court and hilarity ensues. (Not to say the son wasn’t making a grab of his own. Never underestimate the sheer will of a stuffy older child unwilling to allow his old man the luxury of fondling a much younger wife in his final years. That old man knew exactly what he was getting, and why.)

The court cases wound through several levels with several different verdicts, eventually ascending to the Supreme Court, one of the sillier occasions in that august body’s illustrious history. Between court dates, the E! network taped, and inexplicably aired, The Anna Nicole Show, whereupon viewers watched as an overweight, slurring, drug addled Smith was forced out of bed and made to perform like a circus seal in failing attempt after failing attempt to make herself appear interesting. Alongside attorney Howard K. Stern (henceforth, The Enabler Stern), a declining Smith found a new home, had said home decorated, fawned over the old man’s ashes, got a tattoo, went to a strip club, et cetera.

Season one of The Anna Nicole Show was stole right out from under Smith by a poofy, spectacularly gay (and unintentionally hilarious) interior decorator named Bobby Trendy. But in the end, not even Trendy could keep the train from veering off the tracks. Two things were made clear from the first episode forward: 1) Smith was quite unwell, and 2) The Enabler Stern controlled her every movement, either as a means of saving her the trouble or to keep Smith from making a further mess of herself.

A couple years pass. A thin Anna Nicole turned up in TrimSpa commercials, but at no point in her final years did she appear even remotely sober, except for the time she spent walking into and out of the Supreme Court. (In fact, Smith was so sober for the occasion she couldn’t even bring herself to tolerate the media throng that normally found her so stumblingly compliant.) Putting it in a roundabout way, the Court greased the skids for Smith to be awarded $480 million of her dead husband’s fortune. She died without seeing a single penny.

* * *

The only interesting aspect of all this is the ongoing battle to claim a genetic connection to the heir, an infant daughter born last fall. The Enabler Stern claims paternity but is hiding behind Bahamian law to keep from proving it. An old boyfriend claims he’s the father, as does someone called Prince Frederic Von Anhalt, married to Zsa Zsa Gabor. (Yeah, well, if I were married to Gabor, I’d be looking for young mistresses, too.) In a press conference, the prince not only stated he could be the one, but frankly said that any one of “twenty or thirty” men could ultimately prove to be the donor. But when Von Anhalt appeared on The O’Reilly Factor Tuesday night, the B.S. meter swung off the chart with his every utterance; it’s more likely he’s making a sick attempt to horn in on Smith’s death than making a real claim of responsibility.

Poor child. The swarm of media obsession swirling around the baby will die down long before she’s cognizant of her surroundings, but sooner or later she’s going to wonder whatever happened to Mommy. If she’s at all bright, the child will eventually realize she was never so much loved for who she was, but claimed because she was the vessel to a fortune. And that is the one true tragedy of this story.

New Columns Delayed One Week

2007-02-12T18:10:00.000-05:00

As so artfully mentioned in the above title, new "In Dissent" opinion columns have been postponed by one week, to next Wednesday, 21 February. What happened was that I wrote half of a great column, but then wrote myself into a corner. Better not to force the issue; so we'll try again next week.

Is Anna Nicole Still Dead?

2007-02-10T23:03:00.000-05:00

http://www.uniquepeek.com/viewpage.php?page_id=547

"The Unabrian Manifesto" / "In Dissent" & BrianWise.com / "Lincoln's Tomb"

2007-02-10T13:57:00.000-05:00

Preparations have begun to ready The Unabrian Manifesto for paperback publication, perhaps late this Spring. Everything is tentative. Only a very few will be produced, but the entire book will have to be reformatted. The mad search has begun for quotable blurbs to print on the back cover, other than Bernard Goldberg's. Further updates as they warrant.

Starting next Wednesday (2/14) and continuing for eight weeks (through Wednesday, 29 March), the "In Dissent" opinion column will be back in production. This is a "feeling out" period to see how it feels to write on a regular basis, how the column is received, whether people will still read it, et cetera. At the conclusion of the eight weeks, I'll talk with a few people close to the occasion and decide whether to continue on a weekly basis. If so, I'll take a few weeks off before starting up again. If not, then not.

A slight update will be made to the front page of BrianWise.com to mark the occasion; the remainder of the website will be untouched.

Pending a full update on the Lincoln's Tomb page at BrianWise.com, I will simply say that work has begun on the first chapter and is going forward, though slowly.

Who Wins?

2007-02-04T18:16:00.000-05:00

Me: Indianapolis Colts
My son: Chicago Bears
Victor Palau: Chicago Bears
Victor Palau’s son: Indianapolis Colts
Silent Robb: Indianapolis Colts
The White Yoko: Indianapolis Colts (last quarter rally)
My Brother: Indianapolis Colts
Smitty: Indianapolis Colts (38-27)
Jeff Curran (former co-host, TGO Radio): Chicago Bears
Red Haired Girl: Chicago Bears

Three Holes in a Shirt of Mine That Look Like a Face

2007-01-03T17:23:00.000-05:00

Cell Phone Video of the Dirt Worshiper Saddam Hussein Hanged

2006-12-30T21:27:00.000-05:00

Taken via someone's cell phone. Arab television has shown this video and American networks have made some mention of it. But even though it matches the previously and widely seen video that circulated beginning Friday night, we must still say "purported," in deference to an official authentication.

http://one.revver.com/watch/130549/flv

UPDATED 1/2/2007: No longer "purported,"according to this article from the Associated Press, via Yahoo News: "BAGHDAD, Iraq - The prime minister on Tuesday ordered an investigation into the conduct of Saddam Hussein's execution in a bid to learn who among the witnesses taunted the former Iraqi leader in the last minutes of his life, then leaked a cell phone video." It then goes on to describe the video linked to above.

Tour Mordhaus

2006-12-28T20:07:00.000-05:00

In the extraordinarily unlikely event you're interested, feel free to take this virtual tour of Mordhaus, my home.

Quick Notes on Diana Spencer's Still Being Dead

2006-12-19T07:41:00.000-05:00

Interesting news out of London: Diana Spencer is still dead.

This must have come as quite the surprise to the legions of WASP housewives, celebrity addicts, fag hags, and admirers of pointless, toothless monarchies who had, through various combinations of mental illness, childish enthusiasm, and hope-beyond-hope, come to believe she could hover over the beds of the true believers as they slept, bestowing good tidings and – who knows? – perhaps slipping one pound notes under their pillows.

If you’ve at any point found yourself genuinely curious as to the contents of the Scotland Yard report, or worse have taken it upon yourself to download and read even a portion of it, do the world a favor and have yourself rendered unable to breed. Or kill yourself. And do one or the other right away, because sensible, thoughtful people cannot take the chance your rutting will produce another waterhead mutt who could learn from your tragic intellectual example.

I’m pro-life, but not that pro-life.

Up to Your Eyeballs in "Lincoln's Tomb" Research Notes

2006-12-11T08:21:00.000-05:00

BrianWise.com’s front page has been cleaned up; new, low-impact graphics have been added. On the Lincoln’s Tomb page, a few pictures of Notre Dame’s library have been added, as have pictures from my first trip to Ft. Wayne, Indiana’s Lincoln Museum, along with my notes, for your short-term amusement.

Re: Research at Notre Dame.

There is nothing substantive to report on the Notre Dame front. It’s going as research always goes, being as dull and tiring as possible. I frequently find my thoughts wandering – to what I’m having for dinner, to wondering what my son is doing, to wondering what the cats are doing, to thinking about the girl-on-top sex I’d like to have with this redhead currently attending law school at the People’s Republic of Columbia University. And et cetera like that.

No doubt I am ill-suited for the tedium research provides; had I put my nose to the grindstone ten months ago, when research efforts officially began, I could be very close to being done with (at least Mr. Lincoln) by now. But no; I’ve frequently been hampered by laziness, bad moods, and insecurities, and have let them dictate policy.

On the other hand, I do enjoy digging through old books, so I’m rarely disappointed when the planets align and I find myself in the mood to work. Sitting there indiscriminately on the shelves in Dr. Charles A. Leale’s 1909 account of the medical care he administered upon the fallen president; Leale, two months removed from Bellevue Hospital Medical College, was the first doctor to reach Lincoln in the box at Ford’s that night. Also, what appears to be a program from the day, in 1936, when the Servius Tullius stone was dedicated at Lincoln’s tomb. (It was removed during some construction before being replaced and dedicated.)

Also, a curious little volume called I Saw Booth Shoot Lincoln by one William J. Ferguson, 1930. Employed by Ford’s at the time, Ferguson takes the unique historical stand of categorically denying that John Wilkes Booth ever paused on Ford’s stage, rose to his full height, brandished his dagger and yelled, “Sic semper tyrannis!” despite what scholarship has to say on the matter. (Ferguson will be discussed briefly in a footnote I plan to write.)

So on and so on. I traipse around the tenth floor in my socks, re-shelving whatever materials I use as I finish with them, squatting down at random places and generally taking up space, yawning madly, stretching convulsively, making eyes at the cuter brunettes, redheads and black haired girls. In other words, I behave like a college student – somehow, I’m suspecting, by osmosis; there is clearly something in the air. When I’m in the mood for the work, it really is quite the time.

Contrary to previous assertions here and at my website, I could be finished with the book portion of Notre Dame in January, and will then move on to what I’m looking forward to most: the microfilm materials, downstairs.

Re: Research at Fort Wayne’s Lincoln Museum.

Before even getting to Ft. Wayne I was dreading having made the appointment. As recently as Thursday, the day before, I was thinking of canceling. For one thing, I am genetically predisposed to hate doing unfamiliar things; for another, I hate driving by myself in towns I’ve never driven through before. But the main thing is that I don’t think I belong in this fraternity (i.e., of Lincoln writers). You would have a hard time convincing me, despite the unique nature of the book’s central theme, that I should be the one writing Lincoln’s Tomb. (Noted Lincoln historian Douglas Wilson will be giving a talk at the Ft. Wayne museum next President’s Day – and why the hell hasn’t he written this book?) More that I belong in the Society of Irritable Opinion Columnists.

But I must say that by the time I walked down to the museum’s research room last Friday, I was excited and quite anxious to get started. After filling out a standard form – which I described on the Lincoln’s Tomb page as something of a cross between common data gathering and a place to send the legal papers should materials come up missing – I was unleashed upon a collection of files.

I wasn’t long into the process before I came across a paper that caused breath to leave my body: Someone, at some point along the line, prepared a chart detailing Lincoln’s fluctuations in heart rate as he lie dying in the Petersen house. It goes undated and offers only “JAMA” as a possible source (meaning the Journal of the American Medical Association), and even then offering no hint as to whether the page was prepared by JAMA, prepared on its behalf, or copied from a chart printed in one of its journals. It was old enough to have been hand drawn on a piece of graph paper with the necessary notations made with a manual typewriter. (Flipping through my Fort Wayne papers now, I don’t see that I had it included in my stack, which baffles me.)

There were also several strings of correspondence between museum staff and visitors / readers of Lincoln Lore. Some were looking to sell something to the museum, some were looking for answers to old Lincoln questions, or to add their two cents to previously voiced topics of concern. There was a letter from W. Emerson Reck – whose heartbreakingly well-researched book A. Lincoln: His Last 24 Hours is a necessity for any Lincoln admirer or researcher – on whether it’s spelled “Petersen” or “Peterson.”

Reck doesn’t speak definitively on the point, saying instead that different sets of records from different decades in the early to mid 1800s alternate, having it spelled each way depending on what set he was reading. (For some reason, I also didn’t think enough to have this letter copied for the fun of having it, though history has settled the matter: Petersen is the accepted spelling.) Several emails are included in the files I saw, meaning that I had better be more careful how I address correspondence to that office, just in case.

Having now been to Fort Wayne and having gotten some idea as to the scope of the material available there, I can state without reservation that the entire rest of the book could, and very well may, be researched there. Oh, some cursory trips will have to be made to the Lincoln presidential library in Springfield, Illinois; mostly for the sheer thrill of having done some work there. Not to forget some of the larger libraries along the funeral train route – Chicago, Indianapolis, Michigan City (Indiana), et cetera – housing microfilmed newspaper clippings of the proceedings in those towns. But other than those, I am strongly suspecting most of the research work can be done there in Fort Wayne. Which is no small relief, as I am now familiar with the facility.

The point of no return is fast approaching. If I’m ever going to back out ……..

Why Be a Racist When You Can Just Hate Rednecks?

2006-11-27T07:41:00.000-05:00

Physically, I haven’t been right for about two months. (Not that I was all that goddamn right to start with, but at least I’d settled into my own fat little place.) Things started getting interesting right before my birthday: Nothing I eat or drink seems to sit comfortably or digest correctly, my face and neck have broken out, I am frequently exhausted, overcome with heartburn, and here and there suffer from this light tightness in the chest.

All things I’ve written off to common annoyances that come with growing older. I convinced myself that if I changed my diet, these things would improve or be eliminated altogether. That was, until about 1am Thanksgiving morning, when I was struck with a headache so severe I lost some vision in my left eye. The sight returned, but the headache didn’t go away until Saturday, no matter the variety or amount of narcotics (some over the counter, some obtained without a prescription) I pumped into my system.

Now, I told you that story so I can lend more weight to the following story: A new downstairs neighbor moved in about a month ago, and trouble with this redneck trollop began almost immediately. It’s instructive for the reader to know she brought with her, previously unannounced, a boyfriend who doesn’t (or refuses) to work while she, a woman of 43 surely odd smelling years, routinely pulls double shifts at a pizza joint, working for tips and whatever hourly wage accompanies them.

Near as I can tell – this is judging by the number of beer bottles and cans I see piling up in the recycling bin on a daily basis – the boyfriend drinks a good portion of the day, at which point the woman comes home and they both drink half the night, leading to all sorts of wacky redneck shenanigans. And there are few things I find more annoying than wacky redneck shenanigans, because they tend to be too goddamn loud from the jump, thus frequently disturbing even a rumor of domestic tranquility for people like me, right upstairs.

About midnight the first Friday they lived there, I heard screaming. It was the female redneck, carrying on at a volume and length unique only to the drunken white trash female, going on about the redneck guy’s various shortcomings. (I have no reason to believe they don’t exist, I just know they don’t need voicing in the midst of a Natural Light fueled tirade at midnight, while I’m sleeping.)

There are cadets in basic training who aren’t dressed down the way this white trash, mayonnaise-sandwich-eating cracker was dressed down…. What started the fight I cannot honestly say, but I do know that by the time she’d gotten around to the third minute of her argument, if it had been me, we’d have been trading fists. In any other setting, I would have found his emasculation hilarious.

At times like these, I find it’s best to lie still and weigh my options. My first inclination is always to go storming downstairs and inform the proletariat that I expect the redneck drama to cease forthwith, lest I cave in someone’s soft, inbred skull with a baseball bat. My second inclination is always to fight the first; the truth of the matter is, I can’t fight. Should I go storming down the stairs to deal with the rednecks in my own inimitable tone, the odds are pretty good I’m going to get my ass beat by the alcohol-fueled retard. Somewhere along the line she flung her door open and pounded on mine. Fat chance.

By the time she was telling him he “can’t even get a fucking hard-on anymore,” I couldn’t help but laugh. She kicked him out (which I’ve since guessed is a common occurrence, as he’s been kicked out about three times and has returned each time) and things died down. There was an incident the next weekend when she came home too drunk to find her keys and leaned on my doorbell until I came down and helped, but nothing else until Thanksgiving day, when I ambled home about 715am with the aforementioned Worst Headache in Human History.

Upon arriving home I heard loud music coming from her apartment, but quickly concluded it wouldn’t keep me from sleeping and went about my business. At 1030am I woke from a nightmare (literally, not figuratively), and only then heard very loud country music coming from the downstairs, intermingled with occasional drunken shouting. The country music, in itself, a waking nightmare. Well, I’m definitely going down there this time, I thought, but what to say?

This is no small deal, knowing the right thing to say. The point is to deliver as driving a message in as few words as possible, and at times like these, one must be careful how he chooses his words. I wandered down to the gas station to get a beverage and to linger upon the question. Noticing my beaten expression, the girl working the register (who knows me casually) asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“You don’t want to talk about it,” I replied.

“Are you sure?” She only could have been hoping to bestow wisdom in the Dr. Phil mode upon me, quick and to the pointless, as a line was beginning to form.

“It’s my drunken, philistine, redneck fucking neighbors. Still want to talk about it?”

Turns out, she didn’t want to talk about it.

So I traipsed home, having now decided upon the proper course of action. Glancing toward the house I see the boyfriend walk out, turn, and head up the street, meaning either she’s kicked him out again, or he walked out of his own free will (to whatever degree rednecks of this sort actually have and practice their own free will). She answers the door topless and three sheets to the wind at 1045am, clutching a shirt to herself for covering, but thinking nothing of answering the door in such a state. She had things overturned and broken on the floor; apparently the redneck boyfriend did this before leaving.

Immediately she explains that he’d broken the things before leaving. “Did he hit you?” I asked reflexively, honestly not caring. She answered in the negative and I calmly and quietly, but forcefully, delivered my little speech:

“Listen to me, you fucking hillbilly: I have to sleep, I have a Thanksgiving lunch to go to, and I have to work tonight. You turn that fucking radio off and you keep the fucking noise down. The next person who comes and tells you to shut the fuck up will be wearing a badge. The next person who comes after that will be holding a fucking eviction notice in his hand. Am I understood?”

Other than knocking on my door ten minutes later – soaking wet and wearing nothing more than a towel this time – and asking to use my phone (she couldn’t figure hers out), I haven’t heard from her since.

Here’s the point: Over the course of my life, I have met literally every kind of person there is to meet. I have met all races and creeds and nationalities; I’ve listened patiently while absolute strangers have attempted to sell me their third world dirt religions. I’ve had people tell me, with a straight face, that a woman forced to wait two years for a mammogram is a circumstance indicative of a better health care system than the American method. Some of these people I’ve liked personally, some I haven’t. But I have never met a redneck and walked away better for the experience, or happy that we happened to cross paths that day.

I’ll agree it sounds like a mathematical and logical impossibility, but I swear it’s true, and if I’m lying, may I be forced from the road by a hail of gunfire this very afternoon. Give me the opportunity and I’ll write The Case Against Rednecks, debate Jeff Foxworthy in packed bingo halls across the country, and burn the Confederate flag at any race track where NASCAR run races.

Serenity Now!

2006-11-24T19:37:00.000-05:00

Let’s reflect for a moment on Mel Gibson’s drunk driving arrest.

Calling a female cop “sugartits” is certainly a drunken ramble, regardless of whether the female in question is in possession of a rack one could honestly refer to as sugary. Carnality tends to sit just beneath the surface for most of us; get a few drinks in me, and I’ll blather on at some length about any number of sexual questions. (Come to think of it, I’d probably do it sober, too.)

But the problem with Gibson’s “We all know Jews rule the world” act ends up being the exact same problem with Michael Richards’ “nigger” serenade, thrown at black comedy club audience members last week: “nigger” just doesn’t sit on the tips of regular people’s tongues, and it certainly doesn’t become the answer to most people’s common annoyances without first being ingrained in one’s common thoughts.

Having spent some time in my early 20s working at a comedy club, I can tell you “nigger” is not how stand up comedians defend themselves on stage. Oh, they’ll make fun of your general appearance, your job, your parents, your drunkenness … here and there, they’ll simply demand you shut the fuck up. (The best example of this I’ve ever seen came from a female comedian, whose name now eludes me; but she was a filthy and fairly amusing little thing. If I think of her name, I promise to post it here.) But what they don’t do, unless they’re cracking wise at a Klan hall of fame dinner, is drop a dozen n-bombs in about ninety seconds time.

And now with noted hack attorney Gloria Allred in the picture – she’s representing the black audience members, to what rational end no one really knows – this will continue to get stupider and stupider until someone finally scratches out a check (of whose final pre-tax amount Allred will take it upon herself to pilfer a very large percentage), which will succeed only in slightly enriching a few people’s bank accounts.

Concurrent to the settlement check, Richards will write another to the NAACP (or similar) and sit with either Jackson or Sharpton (or similar) for an hour or so, at which point Richards will pronounced contrite by the black leader in question. And white people will nod. Truth is, we don’t know what else to do. In modern history’s nearsighted eyes, a couple checks and one meeting will seem like enough.

Milton Friedman; 1912 - 2006

2006-11-19T19:01:00.000-05:00

From The Wall Street Journal, 17 November 2006

There are some public figures whose obituaries can be written years in advance. Milton Friedman was not one of them.

Arguably the greatest economist of the 20th century, he won his Nobel Prize 30 years ago. His classic "Capitalism and Freedom" was published 44 years ago. He died yesterday at the age of 94, but as the op-ed running nearby attests, he was active in writing about, thinking about and explaining how economics affects our world until the end.

In today's feature, he updates and re-examines conclusions he reached about the Great Depression in "A Monetary History of the United States, 1867-1960," a book published with Anna Schwartz 43 years ago. His thesis was that the Great Depression was not, as was once commonly presumed, a "market failure," but a failure of government policy. Contraction of the money supply in the wake of the stock-market crash of 1929 was what turned a financial event into an economic catastrophe.

This insight flowed from Professor Friedman's conviction that "money matters." As the Royal Academy of Sweden noted in announcing his 1976 Nobel, Friedman's was a lonely voice in arguing for the importance of the money supply in economics when he began writing about it in the 1950s.

By the late 1970s, stagflation -- the combination of high inflation and high unemployment -- had made it obvious that the then-dominant Keynesian model had some large holes. These included the effect of the money supply on inflation and the fact that inflation and employment did not move in lockstep as some of Keynes's disciples asserted. It was a seminal insight, creating what became known at the University of Chicago and elsewhere as the "monetarist school" and laying the intellectual basis for central bankers to break the great inflation of the 1970s.

In awarding its Nobel in 1976, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences cited his "achievements in the fields of consumption analysis, monetary history and theory, and for his demonstration of the complexity of stabilization policy." The citation covers a huge swath of economic thinking, and suggests both the range and the consistency of Professor Friedman's thought. In layman's terms, the Swedish Academy credited him with nothing less than shredding the Keynesian consensus.

First, he had shown that men are no fools. People spend money in accordance with their income expectations over the long-term, not in response to one-time "stimuli" from the government. This is known as the "permanent income" hypothesis, and it called into question Keynesian notions of how short-term stimulus affects the economy. In addition to his monetary insights, Mr. Friedman questioned the degree to which fiscal policy could be used to "fine-tune" the economy by adjusting spending, tax or monetary policy. Today we take for granted that all of these operate with a lag, but it was Milton Friedman who first highlighted the problem.

For all of his academic accomplishments, Professor Friedman's role as a popularizer of free-market principles was arguably more important. He wrote a column in Newsweek for 18 years starting in 1966, preaching the importance of economic freedom to a generation that had never heard such things in school. His 1980 book, "Free to Choose," was a best seller, and the videos that accompanied it were smuggled behind the Iron Curtain like seeds of revolution.

He was among the first to point to Hong Kong as a model of free-market success, a lesson that even today is remaking Communist China. And he first suggested educational vouchers to rescue failing public schools as long ago as 1955; in recent years, he established a foundation to support this idea that continues to advance despite ferocious opposition from unions and other entrenched interests.

This newspaper had the privilege of publishing Milton Friedman's articles on numerous occasions over the years. We've also disagreed with him from time to time, notably on exchange rates and drug legalization. These disputes always gave us cause to reflect, and 20 years ago amid one debate on the benefits of fixed exchange rates we noted that "being spanked by Milton Friedman is one of life's most humiliating experiences."

In truth, Professor Friedman always argued with civility and a bracing wit. One of his best barbs on the size of government: "Given our monstrous, overgrown government structure, any three letters chosen at random would probably designate an agency or part of a department that could be profitably abolished." And he popularized "There is no such thing as a free lunch."

In "Two Lucky People," written with his wife, Rose Friedman, who survives him as a distinguished economist in her own right, Mr. Friedman well described the role of a public intellectual: "We do not influence the course of events by persuading people that we are right when we make what they regard as radical proposals. Rather, we exert influence by keeping options available when something has to be done at a time of crisis."

On the death of Ronald Reagan, whom he advised, Mr. Friedman wrote on these pages that "few people in human history have contributed more to the achievement of human freedom." The same can and long will be said of Milton Friedman.

Republicans Have Their Lips Slapped Off; and Et Cetera / “Lincoln’s Tomb” Research Update / BrianWise.com Update

2006-11-08T07:53:00.000-05:00

Not sure if I’ll be able to carry on, now that Brit and K-Fed are splitting up. But I’ll give it my best.

I hadn’t made a point of saying so, but Tuesday was my birthday, never an occasion for celebration in my book. So upon staggering home Tuesday morning, I walked across the street to vote, and then fell into bed for the vast majority of the morning, afternoon, and evening. About 430pm I rose to check the controversies; machines down here, alleged voter suppression there, a voting machine smashed somewhere else. Otherwise, I didn’t get up and get motivated toward the various elections until about 9pm.

It’s amazing, by the way, how quickly controversies disappear when Democrats win. It’s also amazing how few controversies, if any at all, Republicans hatch when they lose. This is because Republicans can lose without believing a hidden, nationwide conspiracy is turning against them. But that is an aside to the overall point, that the Republican party was punched in the mouth all day Tuesday and well into Wednesday morning.

And as for my predictions, well, I was also punched in the mouth all day Tuesday and well into Wednesday morning. As to my saying Democrats would gain no more than 20 House seats, it’s looking like closer to 30; as of this writing (about 430am Wednesday), Democrats are plus 26. As for Democrats winning no more than three Senate seats, they are holding at plus four as of now, threatening to break even. Talk about someone getting his lips slapped off. Did manage to pull off the few individual races I called: Lieberman won; Ford, Santorum, and Chocola lost. (For those who don’t regularly read this blog, Chocola is from my hometown district, which is why I made a point to predict the race.)

As for the new Democratic leadership – well, well, well! One would do well from this point forward to imagine the Democratic donkey replaced with a Soviet flag, so far Left will the new leadership ride. Begin with Nancy Pelosi as Speaker, move to Charlie Rangle at the Ways and Means, move then to John Conyers at Judiciary, then to Henry Waxman at Government Reform, and finally John Murtha as majority leader. There isn't one properly functioning brain in that bunch. As I said about Republicans two years ago, there are 100 ways for Democrats to turn this election into the greatest circus America has ever seen. And with these nitwits at the fore, I have no doubt they'll find them, and 100 more.

That is precisely the sort of roundup that may force a retired opinion columnist to meander back into the scene sometime early next year. Wouldn’t you think that would be just too much fun for someone like me to ignore?

Seeing Rich Lowry on the Fox News’ late panel reminds me of a visit to Barnes and Noble last Saturday afternoon. Proceeded, did I, to the checkout with nothing more than a copy of the latest National Review, as I do every other week; Rick Santorum happens to be on the cover. The older man working the register scanned the magazine’s barcode and learned he had to enter the price manually. This is the biweekly routine between myself and the B&N; and you’d think they’d get around to fixing that problem. But in fairness, NR does seem to go out of its way to hide the price, printing it in black against a dark blue border.

Anyways. Said the man, in the process of ringing up the purchase, “Rick Santorum is not one of my favorite people.”

Replied I, “Huh. Imagine that. An old liberal working at the Barnes and Noble.”

As you would imagine, this was the exact moment our conversation ended. Note to register jockeys across this country: You ring up the merchandise, I’ll pay for the merchandise; you vote in privacy and I’ll vote in privacy. And never the two transactions shall fucking cross, lest you get called out right there amongst the magazines and knickknacks for being a smug, bitter, 65-year-old liberal cash register slap.

Research for Lincoln’s Tomb at Notre Dame University will officially begin next Tuesday, 14 November. The plan is to set up figurative camp there at Notre Dame every Tuesday through Friday. I haven’t decided whether to employ an elongated Friday session or a half-day Saturday session. Obviously I am leaning toward longer Fridays. As previously stated here, I anticipate work at ND continuing through the winter.

The “Columns” section at BrianWise.com has been completed and posted, with complete archives of all opinion columns written from 2004 through 2006. The rest of the site is still under a reasonably lazy construction; there is no official relaunch date.

Tomorrow's Election Results Today / Hussein Sentenced to Hang

2006-11-06T20:28:00.000-05:00

A few months ago, I was all for the Republican protest vote, and so I wrote on 10 January: “Three months ago [meaning October 2005] I would have said the Republican party’s problems outside Iraq were manageable and didn’t necessarily mean we had to sacrifice the majority. But now I’m not so sure – not only unsure, but starting to think that a good drubbing in November may be the thing to get federal Republicanism back on track.”

And I have remained quite irritated with my party from that point in January. But not, as it turns out, irritated enough to stay home and allow Democrats unencumbered access to the Ways and Means and Judiciary Committees knowing, as I do, the Democrat’s greater natural proclivity toward socialism in the Soviet model and admiration for judges who believe the Constitution is a suicide pact with our enemies. No matter what you think is going to happen, vote anyway. This is no time for sitting at home in the name of protest.

For the record, then, I should tell you what’s going to happen Tuesday, having read only a single opinion poll in my entire life, and yet somehow being more accurate than most polls ever are: Sadly enough, Democrats will win the House of Representatives, but will do so by gaining far fewer seats than history suggests an opposition party should win in the sixth year of a presidency. They will win 20 seats at an absolute maximum, far from the 30 or more they’re hoping for. Chris Chocola, of my hometown district (Indiana’s second), will be utterly smoked. I anticipate a double digit loss.

In regards to the Senate, Republicans will lose three seats and retain control of the more important Chamber. Harold Ford. Jr. (D) will lose in Tennessee, Rick Santorum (R) will lose in Pennsylvania, Joe Lieberman (I, of a sort) will win in Connecticut by double digits.

I wish I’d have written a column saying so, but about two months ago I told an acquaintance that if we ever see film of Saddam Hussein’s corpse dangling by its feet (cf. Mussolini at the end), then we – the United States – have wasted absolutely nothing by storming into Iraq. The lives and money spent, the WMD mistake, the uncertainty, the continued attacks in Baghdad (and virtually nowhere else in Iraq, in case you haven’t noticed), the bitching and moaning in hopes of political gain, the rank un-Americanism, insulting the troops’ intelligence (by which I indict most liberals generally, and Senator Kerry specifically): It all becomes for the greatest possible moral purpose at the exact moment Hussein’s last heartbeat works its way through his filthy heathen veins.

Imagine my great pleasure, then, when I saw Sunday that the dirt worshiper Hussein has been sentenced to hang. Yes, I would say there's quite a room for improvement in Baghdad. I would also say Iraq should hurry the hanging process along, and that the glorious event should be stuck on pay-per-view for $10 a shot; free for those motherless whores sitting in the seats of power in third world little shitholes called Cuba, Iran, and North Korea, just so they know that we will balk at spending tremendous sums of money removing you, but we will also take tremendous pleasure in your violent deaths.

John Kerry is Not Smart / "Lincoln's Tomb" / Bernard Goldberg / "The Unabrian Manifesto"

2006-11-01T18:02:00.000-05:00

Whatever is wrong with federal Republicanism – and there’s quite a bit wrong with it – you will never hear a Republican utter these words: “You know, education … if you make the most of it, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”

That was John Kerry, speaking in California the other day on behalf of Democratic candidate for Governor, Phil Angelitis. The spin is that Kerry was joking about Bush, saying – in his own inimitable fucking fashion – that someone who got virtually the same grades as Kerry in graduate school is just dumb enough to get us involved in Iraq.

When was the last time you heard about a dumb liberal? Oh, in the strictest sense, they’re scattered hip deep throughout Washington DC; hither and yon across American campuses; working inside out, like termites, in the vast majority of the news media. But you never hear of them, at least not in the context of their being as stupid as Bush who, unless I’ve mislabeled the outside-of-policy objections, is at the greatest fault for his innate inability to lie as fluently as did Clinton when the cameras were on.

Jesus Christ, Kerry, pull yourself together. It’s not bad enough that you’ve hitched yourself to the RMS Angelitis as it begins its maiden voyage (only to skid alongside the iceberg and sink on 7 November), but then to denigrate the service of those men and women who are, truly, the innocent bystanders in your ongoing battle against Bush puts you squarely in the camp of people we should thank God we didn’t send to the White House. You’d be well served to save your troop bashing for those quiet dinner parties in the People’s Republic of Massachusetts, where it will do no harm to either your already bullet-ravaged reputation or your party.

Re: Lincoln’s Tomb. The gravy research – i.e., the things I can find without going too far out of my way – has mostly come to an end. So in advance of difficult research, I have sent emails to Lincoln historians (soliciting their advice), the Lincoln museum in Fort Wayne, Indiana (closest to home; as to whether they have materials on hand relevant to my book), and have isolated dozens of items (collections, books, and microfilms) at the University of Notre Dame’s library, some dating back to the 1870s, that I either know for a fact or believe with reasonable certainty will aid my efforts. These are just preliminary steps, of course, but other than ordering some books I’ve long neglected, the easy stuff is finished.

I am dreading having to set up camp at Notre Dame, and so am delaying the first day for as long as logic allows. At first blush, it appears as though work at ND could continue throughout most of the winter. While the idea of befriending some bright, nubile young coed occupies a small, warm spot somewhere in the very back of my mind, there is nothing else that recommends spending so much time there. But off we go, sometime much too soon.

Go to brianwise.com – there’s no website there yet, but you can see a front page, and read a quote about me from Bernard Goldberg: “[Brian S.] Wise is a gem: smart, funny, and merciless when it comes to nailing the morons in our culture."

That is not a joke quote. Goldberg wrote me a very brief email following my mentioning him in the essay “Ann Coulter is Right,” and we traded emails for a time before he ended up with a digital copy of my book, The Unabrian Manifesto. I asked, if you like the book, please send along a blurb. What you see there is the second half of the blurb he forwarded along. A week or so later, we spoke on the phone for about 30 minutes several weeks ago; he seems like an all right guy.

For someone like me, it pays to befriend someone like Bernard Goldberg, but I don’t quite know how to go about it, so I tend to leave well enough alone. You would think people like Goldberg have better things to do…. At least I do, which is why I leave well enough alone. But it was still a nice thing he did, and it’s much appreciated.

By the way. Having recently re-read The Unabrian Manifesto, I still don’t hate it. But I did find three mistakes, and so I’m giving some thought to issuing a first anniversary edition, where those mistakes would be corrected, some additional notes made, and so forth. But it’s just a thought.

R.I.P. My Jeans (2003 or 4 - 2006)

2006-10-10T17:40:00.000-04:00

We have gathered here today to bid a fond farewell to my blue jeans, which I had the extreme displeasure of pronouncing dead about 8am Tuesday, 10 October.

What began as a small hole in the right ass cheek of the pants was at first repaired by my step-brother’s lovely bride (Stephenie, who handles all the tailoring for my various costumes), and then again, and then again but on the left side. A week or two ago I took her the pants and said, “See here? I have two holes, in the same places on each side. Please see what you can do.”

And then, with all due diligence, Stephenie set about the task of inflicting onto these jeans a type of sewing and repair work seldom seen in the vast and proud history of American needlework; a black-thread-against-blue stitching so finely carried out, it looked as though ink had been spilled along the back pockets. Some fine fucking work. And I said onto her, “Stephenie, if these pants get another hole in them, then it clearly wasn’t meant to be.”

Imagine my dismay this morning when I took off the pants, saw the new damage, and cursed the very fucking question of just how long I allowed myself to carry on through the fucking night and morning, not to mention the side stops made on the way home this morning, with a dollar-sized hole torn around Stephenie’s brilliant work. (In other words, her work remained intact, it was the fabric around her work that failed.) My pants torn asunder (or, ass-under) for the last fucking time, I threw them to the ground in disgust, curled up on a dirty linoleum floor, and drank cheap Scotch until I passed out, not before raising the bottle to the heavens and screaming for absolute fucking vengeance. These were not tight jeans; I don’t know why they had to die.

By the way, they were Hilfiger jeans. You wouldn’t have known it, because I long ago asked Stephenie to remove the offensive-to-the-eye identifying patches and so such, but they were. In the future, the Hilfiger company would do well to take the time and expense to track down a more skilled four-year-old to slave away in their Chinese sweat shops when it comes to stitching the pockets to the rest of the jean. I’m sure it can work something out with Castro; I hear the children Cuba has slaving away at the sugar trade have very nimble little fingers….

TGO's Michigan @ Notre Dame Recap (Part One of Two)

2006-09-21T18:28:00.000-04:00

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8197554543781212187&q=michigan%2C+notre+dame&hl=en

The Upshot: Charlie Weiss is Fat.

2006-09-11T18:02:00.000-04:00

In response to my earlier complaint (on this blog, two days ago) about a distinct, and growing, lack of space here at Camp TGO, I began gutting the study about 5am Sunday and failed to finish the job, because that is how all my 5am projects end; unfinished.

You would have to know the layout of my home to know how ludicrous it is, but the bottom line is that a small, afterthought of a room was built off the kitchen some years after the house itself was completed, and this room became a sort of catch-all for whatever the previous owners were either too lazy to trash in the first place or intended to use elsewhere before having sold the house. In any event, I moved in (29 January 2002) long before this space was actually ready for me, and in response to talk of the debris in the Sun Room (as I called it then), I muttered something noncommittal about how we could take care of it in the Spring.

By Summer 2002, after about six months of keeping all my books, magazines, and archive materials stacked in the hallway leading to the bathroom, I decided something had to be done. So up traipsed my landlord and his fat son to remove all the old mess, whereupon I removed the old carpet, painted, laid down new carpet, and threw some blinds over each of the seven windows. (That’s right, seven windows. I told you this house is fucking ridiculous.)

As swift and efficient as all that sounds, I had to practically be beaten about the head and chest by my buddy Mike the Jew (who, irritatingly enough, is much more motivated by the mundane task than I am) to finish all the work once it began. Without his help, and that of my former editor Shane Hollister (who I seem to remember basically installing the carpet), the room would have never been finished. It helps to know people more handy that yourself, especially if you’re lazy.

In any event, it became the study. Its acoustics are the best in the house, and consequently TGO Radio was recorded there (in these instances, becoming the study-o), but due in equal parts to space limitations and international intrigue, has been the one room in the house that has never – NEVER – taken any definitive shape. (My front room, by contrast, has remained in the same configuration for years, and will likely stay this way until I either move out or die.) The poor study is stamped through, has books dropped upon its floor, desks slid around on its carpet, computer equipment and radios moved in and out…. It’s a sad, undisciplined mess, now made even worse by the boxes and boxes of books and magazines I have scattered hither and yon throughout both the kitchen and the study. As a place of research and writing, it deserves so much better than me....

I’ll be in South Bend Saturday afternoon for the Michigan @ Notre Dame game, so keep an eye out for me on the teevee. I’ll be the one (outside the Michigan student section, that is) not rooting for Notre Dame.

By the way, speaking of that, Charlie Weiss is fat. Before the Georgia Tech game a few weeks ago, some poor ABC cameraman took it upon himself to get a lingering shot of Weiss as he walked out onto the field, show from just below crotch level and looking up, in what may have been the most unflattering shot in television’s vast and sad history. Charlie Weiss has bigger man-tits than should ever be permissible on a man paid so handsomely to whip talented young men into outstanding physical condition. Mix in a Slim Fast, you disgraceful, fat bitch.

2006-09-10T07:25:00.000-04:00

Question: Are you going to write a column or essay about 9/11?

Answer: No; and I should remind the reader I’ve never written about 9/11 and won’t until it comes time to write a political autobiography. Oh, I’ve mentioned it quite a few times in passing over the years, but I’ve never thought it an especially worthwhile use of my time to write the three millionth version of the same column everyone else on my side has been writing for five years now. (Coincidentally, this is why I’ve never written about Bill Clinton at any substantive length. You can only say he’s mentally ill in so many ways before you end up simply parroting the last guy.)

Anyone taking the occasion of the fifth anniversary as their cue to clog newspapers and websites with their general recollections of the terrible day, or of Arab terrorism specifically, is taking the easy way out and ought to be drummed out of the Society of American Opinionists (which is much too lax about letting people join, anyway, and would do well to trim its ranks by about 90 percent).

Anyone compelled to write should stop, take in the ceremonies at Ground Zero, and think about what they can do to become better people. Or better yet, think about how you can make someone else’s life better than it was today, September 10th. Instead of writing a tedious, poorly thought out, 5,000-word screed no one will care about, why not write a sizable check to some worthwhile charitable organization?

Just please take the occasion to leave well enough alone and leave this very important matter to actual news desks and relevant opinion pages across the country. That’s all I ask. Thanks.