What it is: Now in its second decade. And no. I will not apologize. 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"How is it that I watch twelve hours of Fox News a day and I'm still an idiot?" --media drone 2. “I’ve been in several office building lobbies, and every time I’ve been in one, I get thrown out. They must not like good-looking people like me in office buildings.” –-chronic office building lobby tourist 3. "I went to that office building lobby yesterday, and I got asked out! So when my wife throws me out for leaving the seat up, at least I know where to go for another date." --millionaires 4. "What? Play a concert without the strippers in the cage? But it's what we've always done!" --musician friend arguing about his choice of performance shtick. 5. "I glanced at the newspaper headlines this morning. I didn't see any stories about Barack Obama not being a socialist. I rest my case." --Republican strategist in a phone poll 6. "Getting my kids to do what I say is like being a cowboy. First I have to lasso them and drag them while riding the back of a horse. Then I brand them. See, the horse, in this scenario is my authority as a parent, and the brand is the teachings I impart upon them, to be retained for all time. I don't know what the lasso is, though." --community parent and teacher trying to get me to go to the doctor 7. "Look, a bird! Behind you! Look! You have to look right now before it's too late!" --doctor of veterinary medicine, distracting me so as to give him his annual tetanus shot Labels: Rhetorical fallacies --posted by Digger Blue at 3:18 PM 0 comments thus far Wednesday, February 22, 2012 The Conservative Mind, by Russell Kirk My dumb book report I didn't pick this book out of a hat. Kirk's tome has been praised by figures such as Richard Nixon (according to Ambrose's biography, he read it avidly and used it to shape his own thinking) and William F. Buckley. Just last month, John Kass wrote a column in which he mentioned glancing at his own "dog-eared copy" of it and bemoaning the fact that today's Republicans can't articulate their own conservative principles, thereby guaranteeing Obama another term. It doesn't take more than ten or twenty pages of reading to realize that, were any Republican to espouse Kirk's talking points, they wouldn't be able to get elected dogcatcher. The Conservative Mind, a history of the philosophy and ideas of conservatism, plumbs the likes of Edmund Burke, John Adams, Toqueville, T.S. Eliot and a slew of other philosophers, writers and politicians (some of which I'd never heard of) whose scorn for what Toqueville termed "despotic democracy" comes out crystal-clear: Aristocracy (by his terms) is necessary in society; Social and economic class is unavoidable (so much for Rick Perry's disavowal of the idea) Not everyone's vote is equal, nor should it be; The proletariat cannot be treated the same way as society's elites, which makes public education a waste of time and money; We need a landed gentry with sufficient leisure to contemplate the heavy ideas and do the thinking for all of us, while we do the heavy work; The southern politicians (Calhoun among them) "knew" the dangers of freeing "the negro population"; And so on. It's pretty eyebrow-raising, to say the least. Were the Republicans to hitch their collective wagon to this star, Joe the Plumber never would have had the career he did, the Tea Party would be home watching t.v. and Bush would have hung his Harvard and Yale certificates on the door to the Oval Office. Nevertheless, it's a fascinating walk through a solidified ideology's history of Western civilization. Kirk is nothing if not erudite, and his argument is compelling, if maddeningly predictable in places. Depending on whom you ask, Kirks' predictions of democratic tyranny and a ruling power pulling all our strings may have come to pass, if one accepts his terms and premises. But by those same terms and premises, most of us are too dumb to realize it anyway. Labels: Stuff I'm Reading --posted by Digger Blue at 6:52 PM 0 comments thus far Wednesday, January 25, 2012 Things I should not have said on my anniversary getaway "Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Bam! I'm out of here." "Did you pay the gas bill?" "Mind if I call you Mother?" "I shouldn't have had those burritos." "Remember, Two and a Half Men is on in ten minutes." "Here's one my ex taught me." "Wuh-oh." "Did...did I just get a text? You mind if I check really quick?" "What do you think the guys are up to right now?" "There. That oughta hold you another six months." "I slipped the maid a twenty. She'll be back here in ten minutes." "I slipped the manager a burrito. He'll be back here in--oh, that's him now." Labels: Bride of Digger Blue, Romancin' --posted by Digger Blue at 4:26 PM 0 comments thus far Sunday, January 22, 2012 Griftopia: Manifesto for those struggling with the hangover of the financial crisis Disclaimer: When it comes to money and the business world, I rank somewhere between a pacifier-sucking infant and college freshman stoned on paint fumes in terms of comprehension. Ask me about my financial portfolio and I'll just blink and stare at you. Talk to me about derivatives and I'll most likely suffer an acute case of diarrhea so I can run to the safety of the nearest bathroom. I try to keep these things in my head, I really do. But they leak out. (Sorry--that was not an intentional reference to diarrhea.) Still, when the Occupy Wall Street movement erupted, I found myself torn. On the one hand, roll my eyes though I might, it was hard to completely discount sneering cable pundits' reports of "lazy slacker deadbeats" or whatever the phrase was, antagonistic at the haves because they worked for what they had. On the other hand, memories of huge taxpayer-funded giveaways are fresh enough even in my mind to make myself wonder, "Well, why not occupy Wall Street?" I mean, it's hardly a secret that federal bailouts have been doing on for decades, and from what I can tell, the beneficiaries keep reporting record profits. Didn't Reagan, that paragon of free markets, bail out the S&Ls in the eighties? Didn't he install high tariffs to protect American corporations against the Japanese? And then there's Newt Gingrich, who, when Speaker of the House, presided over a district that got more federal subsidies than any other district in the U.S. outside the District of Columbia. For him to go on about the free market when the dividend returns were...oh god, excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom. Well, clearly, I'm not the guy to listen to. But I think I found someone who is. Matt Taibbi's book on the financial collapse and the egregious sins of banking and government that not only led up to it but actively encouraged it has made my list of Books I Have Read that Really Make Me Angry (see Eric Alterman's What Liberal Media? and Joel Bakan's Childhood Under Siege for other examples). It's maddening to get a glimpse of what truly passes for power, as opposed to the four-year cyclic sideshow we call elections, and even more maddening when the truth is groaning with the weight of financial procedure and economic theory that even the author, with his accessible style and breakdown of the basics, admits is a bitch to unravel for the uninitiated. Taibbi begins his book in September, 2008, when Sarah Palin accepted the Republican nomination for VP and when we were (unknown to the mainstream media) inches away from complete financial collapse. This is no accident, but it doesn't take long to realize that his axe to grind is nowhere near driving distance of partisan. Taibbi starts by arguing that the Tea Party encourages the anti-government-meddling attitude that fuels efforts to repeal acts like the Consumer Financial Protection Agency Act (which he argues is weak at best) while simultaneously waving a negligent hand at big-government bailouts of banks engaging in insane borrowing and speculative gambling that results in economic bubbles, inflated prices, artificial value and eventual busts that cost jobs and livelihoods. He also points out that the Democrats are just as deep in the pockets of the banks for their elections, and that Obamacare is a huge giveaway to the pharmaceutical companies in a way completely anathema to the president's campaign promises. He ranges from the policies of the Fed under Alan Greenspan, to the mortgage and tech bubbles to the backdoor shenanigans of Goldman-Sachs, Bear Stearns and the other Banking Masters of the Universe. When his points are laced with jargon and technical language, he explains it, and he manages to keep a tone that swings between erudite and angry-guy-at-the-end-of-the-bar: With the $13-plus trillion we are estimated to ultimately spend on the bailouts, we could not only have bought and paid off every single sub-prime mortgage in the country (that would only have cost $1.4 trillion), we could have paid off every remaining mortgage of any kind in this country--and still have had enough money left over to buy a new house for every American who does not already have one. But we didn't do that, and we didn't spend the money on anything else useful, either. Why?...Because we're no good anymore at building bridges and highways or coming up with brilliant innovations in energy or medicine. We're shit now at finishing massive public works projects or launching brilliant fairy-tale public policy ventures like the moon landing...What are we good at? Robbing what's left. With polemic like this, the devil, of course, is in the details, and I can't even hope to know where to begin. Banks pressured the government to raise limits on dollar-to-debt ratios? They ignored long-term risks, even at the expense of investors? They lied to investors? And to homeowners? They took trillions in federal bailouts and walked away rich as hell and scot-free? Rick Santelli is a tool of the finance industry and his Tea Party-creating rant was more full of bullshit than a cattle farm? Elections are a sham? Lousy homebuyers were encouraged and enabled by fake credit ratings? Honest homebuyers were swindled? In the end, even as my head is spinning trying to keep it all straight, the essentials remain: we've not only been lied to about what's wrecking our markets. We're not even part of the equation. Even to me, not all of this is exactly news, not in the light of the past year of alternative media. But having Taibbi to take you by the hand and walk you through the financial fundamentals is another matter. Yes, he's vulgar and loads his prose with invective (Greenspan is the "biggest asshole in the universe," for example, while Goldman Sachs guards dubious investment plans with "mid-level state employees with substandard salaries and profound cases of financial penis envy"). Yes, this gets in the way sometimes. But he's pretty persuasive, and I've found no serious rebuttals of his work, beyond the non-denial denials that tend to dog the best muckrakers when they're on to something. Some other nuggets he dishes out: Mayor Richard Daley's giveaway of Chicago's parking meters to foreign companies (a growing trend that almost included the Pennsylvania Turnpike); the mortgage-backed securities scam; Goldman Sachs holding Texas pensions hostage in order to force the government to bail out AIG; the commodities bubble and how it spiked up oil prices despite politicians' claims about greedy SUV-guzzling Americans and the need for offshore drilling; Greenspan's Ayn Rand-fueled fuckups with the Fed; and pretty convincing glimpses of upper-echelon players like AIG's Win Neuger and his maniacal pursuit of short-term profits at the expense of long-term investors. There's more, but you get the idea: the scams abound, and while we're just figuring them out, these guys have moved on to five other scams by the time the earlier ones hit the press. Critics argue that Taibbi offers no solutions to the mess. I disagree. Towards the end, he points out that, yes, the economic world is a complicated thing and it takes tremendous amounts of time to figure out the basics. But awareness is a first step, and once you're past that step, you're much less likely to get suckered in by the partisan rhetoric (i.e. drilling for oil in Alaska vs. buying a hybrid). My record of belief in the importance of the informed, responsible voter is pretty clear, and Taibbi shares it with no less zeal: We still know very little about what really went on during (the past few years), who was calling whom, what bank was promised what... We need to know what the likes of (Henry) Paulson, (Timothy) Geithner and (Ben) Bernanke were doing those key stretches of 2008. But we probably never will, because the country increasingly is forgetting that any of this took place. The ability of its citizens to lose focus so quickly and to be distracted by everything from Lebronamania to the immigration debate is part of what makes America so ripe for this type of corporate crime. We have voters who don't pay attention, a news media that either ignores key subjects or willfully misunderstands them, and a regulatory environment that bends easily to lobbying and campaign financing efforts. Getting our heads out of the sand won't fix the problem overnight. But until we do, no solution is possible. So, at the very least, I'll be chugging the Pepto and poring over the business pages. That's one American down. Labels: Financial Crisis, Stuff I'm Reading --posted by Digger Blue at 1:01 PM 0 comments thus far Thursday, December 15, 2011 The Infernals Take TJ's and Texting to Town "Are you guys ready to rock?" Lead guitarist Chris Dewey stands before the crowd of rockandrollophiles before him at TJ's Bar in Palatine, arms outstretched, fingers flipped into devil's horns, a gleam of defiance in his eyes and lip curled into a sneer Sid Vicious would kill for. Dimly, electronic chimes jingle. He pauses and looks at an electronic readout. "Hang on," my text reads. "I'm tying my shoe." Some of the sneer evaporates, and he shoots me an annoyed look. Another jingle sounds. "Ok," my text reads. "Now I'm ready." I put my phone away. Dewey tries again. “Now let’s get ready to—" Ding ding! "Ready to rock, I mean," my text reads. "Fucking asshole," he mutters into the microphone, drawing a cheer. I look around in aggrieved innocence. Normally, Dewey wouldn't get any of my texts during his concert. Normally, he'd be so enthralled with the thrill of a live performance, the drunken, admiring sway of the crowd and the delicate scent of buck-a-can Pabst Blue Ribbon mixed with urinal cakes, he wouldn't even notice any of my texts. Normally, for that matter, he wouldn't even piss on me if I were on fire, whether I texted or yelled to him, "Hey, Dewey, I'm on fire! Ow! Owww!" Normally, if anyone asked who the reporter covering the show was, he'd tell them, "That guy? Oh, that guy is my half-wit cousin from Estonia. He's harmless. Just don't make eye contact with him. And don't put the fire out. He likes fires." But tonight, the Infernals, suburban Chicago's third-most-popular children's-folk-turned-grunge band, are demonstrating the benefits of 21st century technology and what they can afford when they give up beer for an hour: a Text-o-Tron. This digital monstrosity consists of a twenty-square-foot screen above the stage, emblazoning text messages sent from adoring fans, right behind them. Every message sent to 3-INFRL, it displays in fiery neon above the heads of Dewey, bassist Bryan Park and drummer Leo Salinas. The machine has been busy. In the past half hour, it's been beaming requests, adamant orders to play louder, and the occasional Christmas gift wish. The band has incorporated all of this into their act with their accustomed ferocity, and it's truly been a sight to see. Of course, Dewey isn't displaying proper gratefulness towards me for my text asking him to hang on a minute while I tie my shoe. Nor has he expressed gratitude for my other texts, sent in the middle of one of his guitar solos, reminding him to take out the garbage when he gets home and asking him where the restroom is. (Sometimes, I wonder why I bother writing these fricking reviews. I never met a musician whose fame didn't go to their head and make him too good to be interrupted by texted penis jokes during a show.) The band debated shutting the machine down after my text complaining that Park kept making funny faces at me, but Dewey nixed that suggestion after noticing a reasonably attractive blonde in the front row who may or may not have been making eyes at him. Even now, after three successive messages from me about whether or not the bartender had any more pretzels, he seems to be holding out for one from her. One expressing her devout obsession with the band, particularly him, and giving helpful tips on musical performance and her own measurements and her own proclivity for leather underwear and bondage. Whatever. Texts and easy blondes aside, the show has completely captivated the crowd. Everyone from the middle aged brokers shooting darts towards the back to the bickering married couple near the jukebox seems to agree: These guys play music that sizzles. Their lineup tonight has ranged from growly originals like "You're Shallow, I Hate You, Die" (composed, according to legend, during one of the band member's honeymoons) and retooled covers of blues classics like "Boom Boom Boom Boom" (chosen, according to legend, because of its repetition of one of the few words Park can keep in his short term memory long enough to sing accurately). The band's chemistry has only deepened in the past five months since their last show, and rumors are starting to fly about a world tour in the spring and a line of Mattel action figures available as soon as Christmas. But merchandise is only a side thought. This band revels in their showmanship. "This next song is dedicated to anyone who's ever found themselves up against the world," Dewey snarls, preparing to launch into "Troubles," a blues number balancing a sort of adrenaline-fueled moodiness with rage and repressed homosexual frustration. (Or so I imagine. I haven't actually heard it yet.) "You guys may have troubles, but we've always got music to--" "Tell Bryan those pants make his ankles look fat," I text him. Ding. My message immediately flashes overhead. "Okay, seriously!" Dewey exclaims, throwing his mike down and glaring at me with the seasoned glare of a public schoolteacher. "Knock it off! This thing is not a toy!" Humbly, I put my phone away and fold my hands in my lap, reminding myself to throw in a paragraph in my review about how he likes to wear women's clothes. "Sorry, Mr. Dewey," I mumble. "In fact, screw this stupid invention," he rages, clambering up onto a chair so he can tear it off the wall and set it on fire. However, before he can enact this deep-seated desire, he catches a glimpse of the blonde in the front row shrugging and putting her own cell phone away. As she leans over to unzip her purse, she flashes an impressive display of cleavage. Dewey stares, a thin trickle of drool running down his chin. "I mean...except for the ladies," he amends. "Especially ladies with platinum highlights and leopard-print bras." The blonde looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. "Yeah...because tonight is Ladies' Text the Infernals Night!" Dewey announces, all but falling off his chair and grabbing the mike again. "Ten texts of your bra size gets a backstage photo with the band!" Park thumps an opening riff. Salinas dives into a solo. A cheer rebounds around the bar. The band soaks up the energy and launches into "Troubles." The blonde shows some leg. Dewey howls and leers at her. "I think she's a guy," I text him. My message flashes abovehead. The blonde snarls furiously at me to mind my own business. But nobody else notices. Rock-fueled pre-holiday merriment is raging, and the Infernals, once again, are demonstrating that they can entertain even while they're busy hitting on cheap, easy women who may not be women. And at the end of the day, isn't that what music is all about? Labels: Concert review, Dewification, Folk Music, Garage Bands, Music criticism, Text Messages --posted by Digger Blue at 2:01 AM 0 comments thus far Wednesday, December 07, 2011 A potential submission to NPR's Fiction Writing Contest This is quite possibly the worst entry I've ever written. In fact, this was actually a writing assignment given to a bunch of sixteen year-olds. They had to begin wtih "No one really believed the story at first" and end with "Like all good things, it came to an end." I was going to showcase their work, but decided to showcase my own instead. No, really. No need to thank me. "By This Rulebook, I Rule" A tale of danger, discipline and derring-do, straight from the bowels of a public school! Maybe even the one...your kids go to! No one really believed the story at first. Least of all Dean of Students Hank Thumpkins. It was just too strange: a guy? And another guy? In the hallway? Fighting? “Nobody fights in this here school!” Thumpkins declared. “My discipline is too stern! They’re too afraid to fight in this here school!” Hall monitor Jesse Hueber thought to himself of palm trees and beach cabanas: where he would soon be taking his vacation and where he wouldn’t have to listen to the big, sweating, bull-necked idiot in front of him. But that was several hours in the future, and for now, he had the dean to persuade. Maybe this time, he could be persuaded with the facts. “I saw the fight,” he said patiently. “I broke it up.” “Stress, m’boy,” Thumpkins said, swiveling back in his office chair and blowing cigar smoke all over the room. “Nerves. Happens to the best of us. I remember when I was fighting in the war--“ “Sir, I broke the fight up, and I brought the two boys in here to get a referral.” Hueber gestured behind him, where the boys sat sulking, bleeding from their ears and spitting teeth into Thumpkins’ secretary’s coffee mug. “They look like good young Christians to me,” declared Thumpkins. “Good-hearted, too. What do you want to go starting trouble for around in this here school?” “This one,” Hueber said, gesturing to the taller boy with brass knuckles and a split lip, “wanted to beat up this one,” here gesturing at the shorter, muscled boy with the black belt in jujitsu and prison tattoos, “for taking his lunch money. He said if he didn’t give it up, he’d beat him up.” “Uh huh. And then what happened?” “Then he beat him up.” “Well if he did give up the money, why would he want to go ahead and beat him up? It just doesn’t add up, Jenkins.” “My name is Hueber.” “Whatever.” Thumpkins waved a hand. “Now me, when I’m prosecutin’ a case, I like to make sure I have all the facts at hand.” “I have all the facts, sir,” Hueber said grimly. “I was there. I saw it.” “Doesn’t mean you have all the facts, does it, Jenkins?” “Sir—“ “What’s that boy’s blood type?” Thumpkins asked abruptly. Hueber blinked again. “Sir?” “His astrological sign? Heritage? Opinions about the future of the gold market?” Hueber stared, his jaw working soundlessly. “You don’t know? Then how can you say you have all the facts?” “I don’t…I…sir, he’s bleeding on me!” “Pure speculation, my boy. Why, that blood could have come from anywhere before it started oozing out his veins. Now ain’t that so? Say that’s so, boy.” “Sir…” “Won’t have any of this nonsense in this here school, Jenkins. Go wash that boy’s blood off your face. You’re a disgrace to your uniform.” Hueber started sweating. “I don’t wear a uniform, sir.” “And you never will, not with that attitude. Shape up or ship out, that’s my motto.” Thumpkins looked at his watch. “Well, now, I think you boys have learned a valuable lesson, haven’t you?” “Sure have, sir,” said the tall boy, cracking his knuckles and staring malevolently at the other. “I have indeed,” responded the squat boy, drawing a line across his throat and flipping a pair of nunchuks across his chest expertly. “Good.” The dean beamed triumphantly. “Now, Jenkins, I suggest you go start your vacation. Beginning right about now, isn’t it? You’ll feel better after you get some time away.” And Jenkins—er, Hueber, did. He had a great vacation. But like all good things, it came to an end. Labels: NPR Fiction Contest, Paperback writer man --posted by Digger Blue at 5:23 PM 0 comments thus far Saturday, November 12, 2011 A late post Had I world enough and time, I would have told this story: It was late. Tso and I were boozing it up in an Irish pub. We laughed. We cried. We argued politics. We swore at each other and yelled at things. It was grand. And suddenly, a man passing by came over to us. "Excuse me," he said. "I don't mean to interrupt, but...are you two gay?" "No!" shrieked Tso. "Yes," I said immediately. Then, startled, I blurted out, "No!" while Tso murmured "I guess..." "I'm just asking because my son just came out of the closet," the man went on. "You two looked like you were tight. I just couldn't tell if you were buddies-for-life tight or who-wears-the-dress-tonight tight." A long, pregnant pause. We looked at each other. "We'll get back to you," I announced. Labels: Not gay but happy --posted by Digger Blue at 3:30 AM 0 comments thus far Copyright © 2001-2012 Endoxa Productions "My wretched dragon is perplexed." --William Butler Yeats Home	Quotes "I've been [teaching] for years, and before every class I take a piss, I check my fly, I wish I were dead--and I go into the room and begin." --Stanley Edgar Hyman Reading A Good Hard Look, Jan Napolitano Truth, Torture, and the American Way: The History and Consequences of U.S. Involvement in Torture , Jennifer Harbury, Amy Goodman Listening To West, Wooden Shjips Projects lesson plans for yet another new goddam prep this year Labels: A Friend's New Kid Actin' Action Jackson Angry America Angry Man Arizona Bad Idioms Best of 2010 Bill Clinton Bluegrass Music Brand New Day Bride of Digger Blue Bust a Move Chilean Miners Comics Complaining Copywritin' Culture Man Damn Poetry Dewification Drinkin' Dropping some NYC Espionage Festivus for the restofus Judgment Day Fox News (is the devil) From the Vault Full of myself George Bush Get a Job Great Moments in History Guilty Pleasures High Quality Flannel Homeowner The Hounds of Digger Blue I Hate Being Right I speak perfect fucking French Insomniac Iraq War Iron Sheik Key West Learnin' Man Lefty-loosey Making Amends Media Mini Vacation Monica Lewinsky Moving My dumb campaign My dumb cat My old man New Car The New Yorker Nostalgia File NPR Fiction Contest O.J. Simpson Och, my aching back Online education Out Sick Oy-il Parenting Pathetic Moments of Triumph Paperback Writer Man Pedagogy People I deal with in bars Phone Help Desk Politics Public Urinals Pulp Fiction Rand Paul Rapture 2011 Reportin' Right Noise Ring Tones Rockin' Man Rod Blagojevich Romancin' Roughing It Sarah Palin Sexual Harassment Training The Shakespeare Diaries Skip Pendleton--Band Manager Slumlord Smut Snow Day Stuff I Want For My Birthday Stuff I'm Listening to Stuff I'm Reading Stuff I'm Watching Tea Party Teacher Man Technical Difficulties Teenagers Tips for Aspiring Musicians Titanic Travelin' Man Tso is an idiot Uncle Blue Weddings Westerns White Noise Working Late Watch Midnight in Paris Don't Watch Fox News Investigation: The Rupert Murdoch Scandal (because it doesn't exist)