Your SOOPER Pre-Super-Bowl-Commercials & Promos Show

A lot of you are going to be tuning in to The Super Bowl today, not for the latest display of referee attention seeking but for the spectacular advertising and promotional premieres. Yet all the pre-game focus is going to be on NFL Football, which many of you just don’t find very entertaining anymore because of their politics and yours. Why we’re offering a unique pre-game show just for you.

And, yes it starts with politics, though not politics for blood. Politics for laughs. Not even contemporary politicians or elections. We’re talking great campaign ads of the dead or demented past. What could be more benign?

Lindsey Graham

Hillary for President

Obama for President 1

John Makane for President

Obama for President 2

Hillary for Another Time

Nancy for Speaker

 

Next up, promos for movies and things…

Indiana Jones

Belovèd Bastard

From Childhood’s Hour

Super Trailer!!!

 

Now for a fun change of pace, how about some more oldies but goodies from the Fluff Vault Of Super Bowls past, including the Puppy Bowl, the Cat Bowl, AND the Babe Bowl…

 

 

 

 

And for the Grand Finale…

YOU Watching Ads and Promos On TeeVee [Click this title, not the pic.]

If you love Nike and Mercedes ads, you’ll love this. Click on Channel 3 of the Remote Control to start the broadcast. Keep clicking the big green dot until the end of the broadcast and then just Back Button to return to FaceBook, courtesy of Shuteye Town 1999.

Thanks for watching. And whatever else you do today, enjoy the Super Bowl!

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The 8086 Story

Yes sir, that’s my baby.

A MEMORY PROMPTED BY THE ATTACHED LINK. COMPUTERPHOBES SHOULD NOT READ…

An anecdote from computer history that will date me and some of the long running computer inefficiencies we still deal with today.

In the mid-1980s I worked for one of the ‘Big 8’ computer companies struggling to compete in the microprocessor revolution that was making business so tough for pushers of heavy hardware called mainframe this and minicomputer that. My division was a startup established to battle the IBM PC in the new world of PC networks that were spreading like wildfire in business environments once firmly controlled by a dictatorial IT department. No longer. Every middle manager with an office equipment budget had bought as many PCs as he could, and now the professionals were trying to regain control of data from standalones to corporate systems. Old-line computer ‘manufacturers’ (as they quaintly continued to call themselves) were now desperately in the business of “networking PCs,” whatever that meant. They were selling PC clones, some of them actionably in violation of IBM patents, and scotchtaping them together with coaxial cables, modems, and whatever network interface software they could cobble together or resell from ‘OEMs.’

Everybody in the old-line computer world was losing to IBM, losing hard. They wanted to sell hardware and the emerging application environment had outrun them by the time they got at all serious about software as something more than the spark plug flashes that made their boxes light up. Where we were in competing within the Fortune 500 user market. We had an OEM workstation with proprietary application and networking software and it was not a PC, did not run DOS, and cost more than a PC clone setup that nominally did the same thing.

Nominally. In actual fact, in truth, our product was a state of the art small computer network system far beyond the scope of what anyone starting with a DOS-based system could compete with operationally. It was truly multi-tasking user interfaces, transparent from station to station, from station to server, and from server to station, in all applications, which included the staple office suite of functions of the day, including advanced word/document processing, spreadsheet, records processing, calendar, email, relational database, strong security, and simply managed network administration functionality, and gateways for industry standard communications upward from local to IBM-based corporate networks. And we couldn’t sell it.

Time and again we made buyer short lists, often one of the last two vendors being considered. Then they went with IBM PCs. IBM owned the mainframe and fleets of guys in blue suits who would arrive to browbeat anyone from local business managers to corporate VPs and even CEOs. Let the microprocessor revolution become a revolt against IBM control and IBM WILL see to it that the company board replaces everyone responsible. Absolute power. Not a myth. In those days, of the Fortune 500, 493 had IBM mainframes based on computer architectures still rooted in the 1960s and very incompatible with the new technologies emerging. The seven companies who did not have IBM mainframes were computer companies.

As the sales losses piled up, our little division responded with an “Executive Briefing System” program to communicate the clear technological superiority we were offering. The program consisted of one guy, an actual computer genius who was one of the ones who built circuit boards in his garage as Gates and his ilk were doing the same. He never got capitalization for his own designs (a large family started early and a penchant for speaking acerbically to ignorants…), but he knew, really knew, how all this stuff worked and didn’t. Why everybody in our divisional management was glad when he stopped asking impossible questions in planning meetings and began living on the road, traveling from city to city trying to win a skirmish or two with a Moby Dick named IBM. Once he got off a plane in St. Louis so jet-lagged he couldn’t figure out where he was for ten minutes that seemed like hours.

What he knew, no one wanted to hear. Just one scene in every one of his Executive Briefings. He waits for the assembled computer experts involved in the purchase decision to tell him with cold confidence that they had no need of our product because they were “networking PCs.” Then he invites them to join him to watch a brand new, just out of the box, ‘network ready PC’ boot up from the first touch of the on button.

It’s a familiar process, known even to many computer users much younger than his audience. Dark screen, green code appearing, marching, ticking, ticking, new subroutines invoked, all very quick, until the CRT announces that the IBM PC has its full complement of 768KB of memory loaded, checked, and available. 768KB. That’s the tiny hardware kernel DOS was made for. All it would ever have. DOS has no designed-in communications capabilities. It is a standalone calculator, not that different from a cash register (poignant in our case because our company was NCR). All the communications, all the networking tag was going to tie every user into a vast, transparent, perfectly integrated corporate computer system was being built OUTSIDE the archaic at introduction cold unbeating heart of DOS. Like trying to turn the old Dixie cup kidphone system into a nationwide telecommunications system by attaching electrical cables to it. The first 768KB of memory had been grown in multiples of eight, 256KB, 512KB, 768KB… where it maxed out. Everything from then on would have to be done from outside.

You can’t turn a Model T into a Bullitt Mustang by dropping a giant motor into it. But by golly, IBM tried. Hundreds of entrepreneurs and innovators tried. What they got was Model Ts wired together in a fatally unfreeable chain gang. The awful, antique, miserable little kernel of DOS is still deep inside every Windows machine today, along with all the compromises, inefficiencies, and unacceptable operating environment attributes we have been forced to accept. Windows is layer upon layer of microcomputer history, all there to bury and conceal the inherently screwed up DNA of its fossilized ancestor species.

I remembered all of this when I read Anton Kapela’s brief post from earlier today. He mentioned the number ‘86’. That rang the bell. The first microprocessor in the first IBM PC was the Intel 8086, soon replaced by the 8088 and a slew of sons. But it’s still there inside (Intel Inside!!!) the umpty-gig wonder machine on your desk, even if it’s an Apple. Apple showed the world how to get past the IBM PC, but like the tarbaby of legend, contact can’t ever be wholly broken. Apple still has to live in a DOS-diseased species of computer environment. Compromises, workarounds, times of going backward to stay in the game, all of that.

The funny and perhaps more ominous part of the story is that the IBM PC did what no other computer manufacturer or combination or cartel of them could accomplish: Break the IBM monopoly. Which fell the way of all empires and dynasties, from within. Yes, IBM won all those purchase competitions and sold millions of PC networks, but they didn’t work. IBM never got the necessary hegemony in its empire of big company colonies. The centralized IT powers lost control of the data, its verification and security most of all, because no one can see the ticking time bomb in the Accounting Department spreadsheet that uses numbers entered not by a data entry clerk but by an MBA with a degree in Personnel Management.

The revolt succeeded, pushed by a million Spartacuses, not by Apple or Cisco. Their own empires will also fall the same way, from within. IBM still exists today, it’s still big today, but it will never again have the earthshaking roar of Godzilla rising from the angry sea.

And we will probably never be entirely done with Godzilla’s seed, the eggs that are gestating on desktops around the globe, promising to make future life not unlivable, but nevertheless will populate with Blue Screens of Death, compatibility issues without end, and a jungle of prehistoric file structures and conventions that haven’t made any sense since before they took over your world and mine, but are to a certainty as much a fact of life as the air we breathe.

Nixon’s Watergate Downfall

Nixon’s Farewell

When have we seen a presidential coup before?

History can be instructive, regardless of how passé (or rewritten) it has become. Much foam-specked spewing beginning anew yesterday about the word illustrated below. The oldest and wisest historians among us can remember all the way back to the bitter end of the 20th century (Phew!) when President Clinton was almost undone by evil Republican clingers obsessed with sex. They don’t find many useful lessons in that exercise, or at least they haven’t learned any that might be available. Worst of all from the consensus elite perspective is the fact that the Clinton Senate trial failed to remove him from office or even significantly decrease his approval rating. Nothing to see here. Move along…

There have been two Senate trials of presidents in American history. And two survivors.

[For the post from which this graphic was adapted, see James* Had a Giant Something.]

Why I’m going to resurrect an even more ancient piece of history that really does contain a few vital learning points. President Richard M. Nixon was re-elected in the Year 1972 (I know! Egad!) by an absolute tidal wave of electoral and popular votes. Nixon received more than 60 percent of votes cast and 520 in the electoral college. McGovern won Massachusetts for a grand total of 17 electoral votes.

The Democrat Party was in a state of devastation. It had been flattened by… itself. McGovern was a far left candidate who seemed opposed not only to the Vietnam War but on account of that war opposed to much of American political tradition, claiming the mantle of a loud counterculture to be the next nation-changing incarnation of FDR. Economic times were tough. All his policy prescriptions added up to making government bigger, more expensive, and more humble on the world stage. The voters didn’t particularly like or dislike him personally. They didn’t particularly like Nixon either; they just preferred his policies to McGovern’s. (Something for Dems to remember now: disliking or disapproving of the President is not the same as not voting for him. Such polls mean little.)

The interval from November 1972 to August 1974 was 22 months. That’s how much time it took to bring Nixon down and eliminate the Republican Party as a political force for 6 years.

Am I daring to suggest that Watergate was a Democrat political operation? (“Do I dare to eat a peach?”) Yes. In hindsight, it’s pretty obvious. It was a successful presidential coup. Of all Republicans in the politics of the time, Nixon was the most hated. And hated is the right word, dating back to his days in Congress as a leader of the House Un-American Activities Committee responsible for, among other things, exposing and convicting Alger Hiss as a Soviet spy. When Nixon was running for Vice President, press stories suggested he was on the take. He saved himself by going on TV and enduring the humiliation of explaining that his wife wore a cloth coat and that they’d acquired the cocker spaniel puppy Checkers fair and square, with their own money.

No long recitation needed of his depiction in media through the years by a left-leaning press (yes, even then, kiddies) who continued at every opportunity to float the fantasy that Hiss and the executed Rosenburgs were in fact innocent of nuclear espionage as Soviet spies. Nixon narrowly lost his bid for the presidency after two blameless terms as VP for a very popular president. He subsequently lost a run for governor of California and after a nasty campaign bade farewell to the press — and ostensibly public life — with the words, “You won’t have Dick Nixon to kick around any more.” They thought they’d crushed him for good.

But Nixon returned. An unlikely comeback story. He beat a pitiable candidate, Hubert Humphrey, by a nose in 1968, actually began the long demanded drawdown of American troops in Vietnam, stabilized the economy without rocking the boat too much, opened a shockingly unexpected new dialogue with Red China, and hugged Sammy Davis, Jr. at the White House. Then came the ’72 election, a doubly cruel humiliation for the Democrats in government and media. First, the appalling enormity of the defeat itself. Second, the truly poisonous fact that the architect of Democrat ruin was Richard Nixon.

He had to be taken out. Today we hear the scripture of “White House plumbers” and “3rd rate burglary at the Watergate Complex,” accompanied by the mantra that “Nixon brought himself down” and “the press just reported it.” The assumption being that back before Reagan began to engender an irrational personal antipathy in the press corps because of his popularity and seeming immunity to critical reporting, the old-time press was really this eminently reasonable, spotlessly objective, well, ‘institution’ that existed to provide “just the facts, ma’am.”

If that were the case, why did Vice President Spiro Agnew succeed in assembling a much deplored constituency called ‘The Silent Majority’ that far from being an evil Republican fabrication did indeed exist and powered the re-election landslide to end all landslides in 1972? And Agnew didn’t dream up the notion of press as villain just to have something more substantial than McGovern to run against. The notorious phrase “nattering nabobs of negativity” was first uttered by the VP in April 1970 at a state-level political event. But this early sign of a pre-existing anti-administration press has also been misrepresented, as in the following discussion and quote from the book Nixonland.

William Safire would be the muse of that campaign. Here’s how the famous phase is described in Rick Perlstein’s remarkable recent book on that era, ‘Nixonland’: “At the California Republican Convention in San Diego, Agnew… loosed Safire’s most triumphant linguistic confection: “In the United States today, we have more than our share of nattering nabobs of negativism. They have formed their own 4-H club — the hopeless, hysterical hypochondriacs of history.” [Actually, the phrase was first used by Agnew in April 1970.]

Agnew knew the scribes would write about it, if only to mock him. That was good: Let the elites mock patriotism!

The words that William Safire penned and that Spiro Agnew mouthed actually had enormous impact that has lasted until this day. They helped foster among conservatives and the folks that Nixon called “the silent majority” a growing mistrust of the mainstream media, a mistrust that grew over two generations into a form of hatred. ***It also started a dangerous spiral of events — journalists started bending backwards to kowtow to their conservative critics, beginning in the time of Reagan, an ill-advised shift that did not win back a single reader or viewer on the right. Instead, it caused a lot of folks on the left and even the center to wonder why the national media had stopped doing its job, stopped questioning authority.***” [!!!]

This quote (asterisks-added) is a fine example of the way the left likes to reverse cause and effect. Conservative antipathy to left leaning media coverage now PREDATES any liberal bias one might observe in the press. Which is a blatant falsehood. I watched TV network news coverage of the 1964 Republican Convention that nominated Goldwater. The anchors and floor correspondents of all three networks could not have been more superior, scornful, and partisan in their commentary and interviews with Goldwater supporters. Two green bean NBC floor reporters — Brokaw and Chancellor, I recall — seemed proud of being thrown finally off the convention floor by party dignitaries. And, yes, Goldwater lost in a giant landslide to Lyndon Johnson in 1964. Happy Days are here again! Unthinkable that the Dem triumph could be undone so totally so soon.

Speaking of Johnson… he always seems to be absent from Watergate analysis, even by the RINOs anxious to prove their nonpartisan mettle by making no bones that Nixon deserved to be removed from office, horrible stuff he did, and the coverups worst of all! Probably true as far as it goes. But it begs the questions of how presidents are removed from office and what for. One could make a strong case that both of Nixon’s predecessors should have been removed from office based on what was indeed known by members of the White House press corps when they were in office. Kennedy’s obsessive sexual adventuring included sleeping with the mistress of a known Mafia Capo. His drug usage was probably criminal and at least disqualifying in and of itself. LBJ had some big scandals of his own that were covered in the press — the Bobby Baker and Abe Fortas conflicts of interest, the inconvenient fact that his net worth doubled during his years as POTUS — as well as huge lies to the public about Vietnam and some private N-Word slurs overheard by reporters while he was president. But all of this finally fell off the front pages. Nothing to see here. Move along.

In such matters it’s the press who decides which stories live and which stories die. There is always the option, rarely used in the old days, of aiming for far more than damaging political embarrassment. The option of turning up the heat until it’s so hot the real story becomes the story itself, bigger and bigger every day, and the game is waiting for the target to self destruct in mistaken tactics of self defense. The politicians who must take the concrete actions are in this context mere players on the press stage, posing for the spotlight and performing for the cameras.

How Nixon was taken out. As even the proudest lefty will tell you sagely and slyly. “It’s always the Coverup that gets them in the end. The original event wouldn’t have been enough. But they had to delude themselves that they could get away with it. Fools. It’s always the same.” Nixon didn’t resign because of a 3rd rate burglary. He resigned because of an 18-and-a-half minute gap in a tape recording of a confidential meeting. Which also took out the Vice President, the Attorney General, and almost all the entire top layer of the White House staff. The actual articles being assembled in the House were immaterial. Backed into too tight a corner, Nixon would resign. As he did. The election landslide to end all landslides undone in less than two years. A breathtaking political accomplishment.

Now what does any of this have to teach us about the current political thrashings around? Quite a bit. The decision to take out Trump almost certainly occurred long before the 2016 election. It didn’t begin with the Dem Party per sē but with the Hillary campaign, if there’s a difference between the two. The Steele Dossier that became the basis for the FBI/DOJ’s securing of FISA warrants to surveil the Trump presidential campaign arose from the Clinton campaign skunkworks and her connections from her tenure as Secretary of State. Hillary’s people knew Trump was a political juggernaut and they used their long experience with Bill’s escapades to find or make up a foreign sex scandal Nemesis for him that could blow the election wide open.

It was high risk, of course, being wholly fictitious, and Clinton didn’t want to use it herself in public unless she was really up against it. Using the dossier to justify FISA warrants made it seem likely that enough dirt could be found on Trump to use (semi)legimitately without her involvement. She had enough security scandal issues of her own to worry about.

It bears repeating that all of this is being done well before November 2016. Back in early 1973, the Washington Post had to resurrect its dull story from June ‘72 about a 3rd rate burglary to build their Big Bertha. Hmmm. Wasn’t it about June 2016 that Trump was starting to look like a potentially big problem? Compared to the Watergate burglary, though, even the existence of the fraudulent Steele Dossier is an incredibly larger crime. But the MSM has never seen fit to turn up the heat under this particular burner.

The upshot is that the Nixon hit squad in the MSM got a later start than the Trump hit squad. And they have been even more ruthless and open about their intentions. Why were/are the Trump attackers so motivated, so heedless, in their schemes? Because when it comes to hatred, the Trump presidency is Nixon all over again. The party that thought it had a lockdown on the Oval Office finds its prospects in ruins so obliterating they could not have conceived of them before Trump came out of the citizen wilderness to hammer them. They had thought they could get away with the stumblings and failures and setbacks of the sorry Obama presidency, because Hillary could restore momentum without undoing the narrative of the Obama legacy. Trump’s narrow electoral college win was every bit as destructive to Democrat power prospects in the long term as Nixon’s landslide had been, perhaps even more. Within six months, Trump had already dismantled as much as 50 percent of the so-called Obama Legacy. With Supreme Court appointments dropping into his evil hands, he could make his changes stick too. Like Nixon, he HAD to be taken out, not just defeated in the next election.

All the efforts and side offensives of the Mueller Investigation have not really been about gathering evidence of Russian collusion. They have been about turning up the heat on Trump through time with leaks and irrelevant prosecutions of minor players while not much was really happening inside the investigation — in the not improbable hope that Trump would make some misstep like Nixon’s tape fiasco that would cause him to bring himself down. Nixon’s stalking predator was the Washington Post, with a multitude of support from the rest of the print and television media. Trump’s predator is far bigger and more monolithic than that. It consists of the entire Democrat Party apparatus, all Dem officeholders and even some RINO Republicans, every corner of the mainstream media from news organizations, to celebrities, entertainment movies and TV shows, paid protesters in multiple deniable but reliably violent acronymic organizations, to the whole monolith of the educational establishment, from suburban kindergartens to the administration offices of Berkeley, Yale, and Michigan. Foreign plutocrats like George Soros are also involved in multiple ways, as are American corporations run by billionaire dilettantes. All poised and waiting, checkbooks busy.

Has Trump made that fatal misstep, that consummation devoutly to be wish’t by the now wholly insane left? No. Not yet. He might, but the clock keeps ticking and only rumors continue to dribble out of it with the seconds, minutes, and hours.

Why the Nixon comparison is vitally important. It is now 26 months since the election. Nixon went down in 22 months. Yet Trump is facing a far more formidable, clandestine, insider-planned and executed offensive receiving popular support in ways not even the Watergate scandal ever achieved. Nobody wanted Nixon dead at the time. They wanted him out, not even necessarily in prison. There’s a difference.

The difference is, as it has been, Trump. He fights. He fights for himself, in public, and isn’t afraid to call out his foes by name. He’s not hiding behind his Chief Of Staff in a bunkered Oval Office. He continues to carry out the duties of the presidency and accomplish more than all but a few before him have.

The fight is his victory. He will not resign. They will have to convict him in the senate to remove him from office. But this time there can be no pretense that principled, objective journalism and law enforcement authorities have definitely removed a malefactor from office. This time, there is a population of Trump supporters who will continue to fight on even after he leaves the White House, because they can see and know that dirty work is being done.

If they thought about it, the Trump haters should realize that they were lucky to bag Nixon as easily as they did. Trump is, will be much much harder to bring down. And if they succeed, they will have earned themselves a deeply corrosive Pyrrhic victory. One that may ultimately bring down the careers and life prospects of all those who participated in the hit on Trump. Who will be a martyr throughout the remainder of American history.

I know, as usual, I’m writing this to put it in the public record of our times. If you don’t understand what I’m saying, or don’t read a word of it, I don’t care. That’s one of the ways I understand the real strength of President Donald Trump.

The Best Book About the Trump Phenomenon

Everybody rushed in after the fact to be first with the goods on how Trump pulled off the biggest electoral upset in modern presidential history. I was already ahead of them though. I had been covering the political briar patch with a steady diary approach for four presidential election cycles, both terms of W, the meteoric rise and weird re-election of Barack Obama, and of course the first flutterings of the Republican country club riot over replacing him. I had three blogs to draw from over that time, and a couple+ books out of it, including one demonstrating that I had Obama figured out long before even his fiercest beltway critics caught on.

I recognized the unique potential of Trump to win the whole thing early, in June of 2014. I could prove it. Why has it taken me this long to do my own book about the most spectacular politician of all our lifetimes? Two reasons. I didn’t realize I had produced so much material about Trump, the blog in which I did most of it having been essentially shut down by technical problems(?) in early 2017. Out of sight, out of mind.

There’s also the matter of my 24-48 Rule regarding Trump himself. It was hilarious but odd to me during the campaign and afterwards that so many smart observers raced to react instantly to whatever Trump did or said and then explain to us with great confidence what it all meant. They were always wrong. The ground is now littered with the careers of those who were smarter than Trump, better persons than Trump, and insider shrewd in every area where he was a bumbling loudmouth newcomer. I learned quickly not to offer explanations right away but give even the most provocative Trump events a full day (24 hrs) or two (48 hrs)) to marinate and start exhibiting their unfailingly Machiavellian consequences. Contrary to Facebook conventions, I know, but patience has served well there since the inauguration in particular.

Some things, like the big picture of Trump and what he was doing with the arc of his political life, required more than 24-48 hours of course. So I gave them 24 months from when he started running in earnest. Now I’ve concluded that the blog diaries represent a revealing slice of what the hell was going on in 2016 and 2017. They’re very different from all those other books, which are full of a lot of writing and quotes and bullet points and blaring headlines. Maybe right about a lot of things but very much after the fact. In Rē Trump is an account from when it was all actually going down.

My book is full of pictures and rock videos (not all Stones, either) and prizefights and partially dressed women and jokes at everyone’s expense, including my own AND Trump’s. There’s actual writing too, as well as reference to things you might not expect, like the antikythera device, the works of P.G. Wodehouse, bad words, the nature of reality, Ted Knight’s greatest role, the Inland Taipan, the Brutalist School of modern architecture, and a big chunk of horselaugh observations about the politics of Y2000.

Availability and price? Right now and for free. There’s no way to get this into print or even to Kindle with so much electronic content. It is absolutely an Internet book and an Internet experience. So I give it away with no regrets in hopes some of you might enjoy it. Here’s how you access it.

Personally , I would not begin with Part 6 but Part 1. Consider it an impressionistic prelude to what would come. A contextual explanation of what Trump tied into that created a new breed of voter. We have always been a people who have a romance of themselves, no matter what slings and arrows are hurled at us. Movies, music, heroic stories, ideas of freedom, have always been intrinsic to that sense of romance. We have always understood, regardless of what the elites say, that violence in the movies and music have always been figurative, symbolic, cathartic, and necessary. What did Trump connect to? A concatenation of government-imposed force and sufferings. He became in his gold-tinted life an apotheosis of what one man could do if he wasn’t Harvard and Harvard Law but a free spirit turned loose.

[It worked. All these years later, he turned out to be an astonishingly successful President. The romantic sense was not wrong. Doomed maybe to constant persecution, but he turned out to be as brave as his supporters had hoped.]

IN RĒ TRUMP

Part 6The Trump Term in Office

From Instapunk Rules:

Part 5 (Jan 27, 2016 <– > Feb 16, 2015)

Part 4 (May 6, 2016 <– > Jan 27, 2016)

Part 3 (Nov 12, 2016 <– > May 13, 2016)

Part 2 (Mar 17, 2016 <– > Dec 31, 2016)

Part 1 (Dec 13, 2016 <– > Mar 24, 2016)

REMEMBER TO USE THE “SMALL BACK BUTTON” TO TOGGLE BETWEEN THE BLOG ENTRY AND THE LINKED POSTS.

I’ll be adding this to my other Internet book offerings at my writing website Laird Ink very shortly. Plenty there to look at besides this.

Master and Man OR The Tom-Tom Solo

I was doing my nightly bedtime reading of the Vatican 2 documents, which I find soothing and conducive to harmonious alpha waves, when I stumbled across this strikingly poetic passage that just begged to be read aloud. I therefore had Maria read it to me after she finished the dishes and put my kids down for the night. She has a lovely voice and a lilting Latin rhythm to her reading. I didn’t even hear her leave to go home to her own family. The last I did hear was this beautiful passage:

“It is in accordance with their dignity as persons-that is, beings endowed with reason and free will and therefore privileged to bear personal responsibility-that all men should be at once impelled by nature and also bound by a moral obligation to seek the truth, especially religious truth. They are also bound to adhere to the truth, once it is known, and to order their whole lives in accord with the demands of truth. However, men cannot discharge these obligations in a manner in keeping with their own nature unless they enjoy immunity from external coercion as well as psychological freedom. Therefore the right to religious freedom has its foundation not in the subjective disposition of the person, but in his very nature. In consequence, the right to this immunity continues to exist even in those who do not live up to their obligation of seeking the truth and adhering to it and the exercise of this right is not to be impeded, provided that just public order be observed.”

It was fresh in my mind when I woke the next morning. It had stirred some memory of poesy in me, of the soul immersing variety. I had a particular quote in mind, a lost stanza, as it were, I needed before proceeding with my prosaic diurnal duties.

I called a Monsignor with whom I have been close friends for many years. He recommended contacting his own son, a bright artistic lad we had both come to know soon after the revelatory paternity test. “Well, Tom, he’s what I’d call a Scholar of the Life Lived,” said my friend cryptically. So I took his advice and rang J__ up on the phone.

I read parts of the inspiring document and he chuckled, “I’ve got the poem you’re looking for.” And he did. Here it is:

“In me you see a man alone. Held by the habit of being on his own. A man who listens to the trembling of the trees. With sentimental ease. In me you see a man alone. Behind the wall he’s learned to call his home. A man who still goes walking in the rain. Expecting love again. A man not lonely. Except when the dark comes on. A man learning to live with, memories of midnights, that fell apart at dawn. In me you see a man alone. Drinking up Sundays and spending them alone. A man who knows love is seldom what it seems. Just other people’s dreams…”

From Frank Sinatra’s gorgeous, deep, and extremely devotional album of the same name.

I hummed the melody through my long public transit commute to the office. Even beatboxed it a bit to myself, the silent solo of my life’s own unique drumbeat. People ask me how I remain on such an even keel, never losing my temper or, seemingly, my way, despite the temptations of disagreements at work or in politics. I can be alone, unruffled by the petty maelstroms of others, quite unresponsive to them on any secular level, because that is MY freedom of religion and Vatican 2 tells me so. With a little boost from the Chairman of the Board himself, now in his own appointed place in God’s kingdom. And so I give my thanks for the me I’m free to be:

“Deus, cuius misericordiae non est numerus, et bonitatis infinitus est thesaurus: piissimae majestati tuae pro collatis donis gratias agimus, tuam semper clementiam exorantes…”

Amen.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTCFd_coas8

Ultimate October Surprise! Democrabs in Your Pants

All of the recent upheavals in matters sexual and gender-related have enabled the most progressive of social justice engineers (SJEs, new term, look it up) to devise new federal legislation that will be passed within days of the Democrats resuming the Majority in the United States Senate. Various anonymous spokespersons are consistent and adamant about describing this as principally a health measure.

They are understandably defensive about the sobriquet the measure has already acquired among House aides and interns, “Stop and Peek.” But it’s not unlikely that monicker will stick, although the speed of intended passage of the bill, officially called The Smith-Harris Initiative for Targeted Epilations, will render the humor moot.

ITE, as sponsors Tina Smith(D-MN) and Kamala Harris(D-CA) refer to it, represents a response to the epidemic of crab lice which has unfortunately accompanied the influx of stateless impoverished refugees from our neighbor states south of the border.

“You can’t even get to know a friendly stranger without having an unpleasant dermatological surprise a day or so later,” Senator Harris explained. “It‘s past time for our party to step up and protect the American people, to make a safe place for our safe places, so to speak. You know what I’m saying?”

To this end, the bill will federally mandate regularly scheduled epilations of both pubic and head hair throughout the population, excluding only those hundred or so minority genders who have disqualifyingly complex dysmorphic symptoms. To counterbalance the enormous energy cost of the program, the bill also expressly prohibits the shaving or chemical epilation of hair on the face, chest, back, and legs. The CDC has determined these kinds of hair are not a crab lice risk if the targeted epilation regions of the body are kept free from hair.

Regardless of motivation, ITE seems destined to wreak a profound alteration the American sexual landscape. The changes in everyone’s appearance (exceptions excepted, of course) will be striking:

You will have noticed that two pictures feature women with head hair. That’s as good a basis as any to describe the explicit exclusions and exemptions in the Smith-Harris bill. Women who earn a living predominantly from their appearance, like television hosts, movie star political activists, and certain female U.S. Senators are expressly excluded from the boll’s jurisdiction as a simple practical matter.

The otherwise universal changes in appearance may not be the most controversial aspect of the legislation. The core of the bill’s language, admittedly far too long to read before it comes to a vote, concerns the creation of a “sister” agency of the Transportation Agency (TSA), which employs highly trained personnel and advanced technology to check passengers and baggage for concealed weapons. The Pure Underwear Targeting Agency will be similarly empowered and equipped. Their personnel will be the ones charged with carrying out the bi-weekly epilation procedures required of all post-pubescent U.S. citizens, as well as the good looking ones a bit younger. The procedures performed will be brief, friendly, and strictly professional, much like passing through a TSA checkpoint at the airport.

Between sessions PUTA employees will also be stationed at common points of human passage like airports, corporate and restaurant restrooms, and sometimes at random in casinos, hotels, the subway and bus stations. This aspect of the bill is what led to the “Stop and Peek” quip, though the transaction will not be designed to humiliate.

The Senate sponsors also offered a friendly and disarming tip, especially to the women of America. “Self-examination is something we’ve all been doing since puberty,” Kamala Harris said. “Now we can help ourselves by continuing the practice a little farther south.”

And if we really want it or need it, PUTA will always be there to lend a hand.

Thank you for that, Kamala. We never doubted you.

AHA at it again with gratuitous slap at writer John O’Hare

It’s not enough that they have the most offensive piece of tallish architecture in Philadelphia, some fauvist mockery of the Flatiron Building. It’s not enough that their press release announced the sad suicide of Hunter S. Tompson with two chilling sentences: “Hunter Tompson shot himself in the head. He died.” From there they went on to prove why eulogies are better short.

Now they’ve opened a controversial exhibit about the great Pennsylvania short story writer and novelist John O’Hare. It features a one minute movie with a voiceover narration drowned out by a dinning bit of Muzak. Hard copy of the narration is handed out hopefully with the tickets, seeming to promise more. Which isn’t there.

As a true American original, John O’Hare came to the sophisticated pages of the New Yorker from a hard scrabble town or city called, um, Pottsville, PA. It was a place with people, buildings, more buildings, a statue, and dreams. And stories. All of these were typically, uniquely American, and John O’Hare got famous telling his mundanely original stories about a place called Gibbsville, a town or city a lot like Reading, PA. O’Hare told his stories in a brand new American way, which was in about a thousand words give or take. Which is what led to all those very long novels that became movies and ended his writing career.  But he got rich, which still didn’t make up for not going to Yail.

And here’s the stale donut of a film tribute to the distinguished O’Hara:

[INSERTS TO COME]
As a true American original, John Upcreek came to the sophisticated pages of the New Yorker from a hard scrabble town or city called, um, Reading, PA. It was a place with people, buildings, more buildings, a statue, and dreams. And stories. All of these were typically, uniquely American, and John Upcreek got famous telling his mundanely original stories about a place called Brewer, a town or city a lot like Pottsville, PA. Upcreek told his stories in a brand new American way, which was in words specially chosen for you by a Harvurd summa cum laude. Which is what led to all those novels about that same guy from Gibbsville that should have become movies and ended his writing career.  But thanks to not many movies, his writing career kept going and he still got rich, which is why he was so smart to go to Harvurd instead of Yail.

Rabbit Is Senile

Chapter One

Here I go again, with another brilliant display of writing. It’s amazing, even to me, that I can write this well, so transparently that it seems the scenes are just unfolding themselves out of the ether, but then again with that additional turn or twist or tweak which make it inescapably clear that we’re in the hands of Upcreek the master. I started out with this much talent all the way back when I was a summa cum laude English major at Harvard, and I’ve never stopped producing. Every piece I do for The New Yorker, every smug review and essay, every one of these damn Rabbit novels—they’re all, always, brimming with talent. It’s just so fucking beautiful the way I use words that everyone, including me, is rapt, so that even though we’re still in the first paragraph of Rabbit is Senile, all my readers have already zoomed back to where Rabbit’s life was when we left off last time, and they can taste and feel and hear the tiniest incidentals of his experience, which at the moment have to do with the fact that his diaper has just been soiled and he is grappling in the depths of his bleached and porous memory for some identification of the experience of having a bowel movement.

Only I can get away with this kind of scrupulously unblinking description, because I do it so damn well, and it doesn’t matter a farthing that nobody out there, or in here, gives a shit about Rabbit—they come to me for the performance alone, the way they would go to see Luciano Pavorotti sing arias out of context.

And if, in this case, the aria is but a cheap rehash of characters that were never that interesting in the first place, it’s still okay, because prose this beautiful accomplishes the miracle of demonstrating that life itself cannot live up to the glory of my talent with words. And if it is a joke that I am, at this very instant, describing in meticulous compleatness the content of Rabbit’s Pamper, it is not a small joke or a venal one; it is rather part of the grand joke that I and my readers share about life—if only, we all sigh and chuckle and exclaim, if only life were as fine as the writing of John Upcreek. And as we sigh and chuckle together, I can begin my next tour de force by bringing this stinking Pamper to the brink of your very nostrils and holding it there for long minutes, while arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit.
Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim mem-inisse iuvabit. Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit.

Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim mem-inisse iuvabit. Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta. Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris Laviniamque venit. Multa ille terris iactatis et alto. Dux femina facta.