Thursday, December 31, 2020

The Scorpio Brothers - Firewater [US, Psych Funk Groove] (1974)

This was on the list of a YouTuber/ Record Collector as being the one of the ten best weird finds in his travels. Certainly unknown to me, and most of the comments on the 'Tube run that way too. The guy himself said he just saw it and took a chance, because he didn't have a clue either. Hit counts are low, but the entire LP is up and available for your listening pleasure. 

Sunday, December 27, 2020

Adventures In Strange Vocabulary: Fictitious Capital

Today's unusual entry is, “fictitious capital.” Breaking it down, “capital” is money, and “fictitious” is like fiction, which means not real, as in a “fictional character,” no such person exists. Captain Ahab only exists in the story of Moby-Dick. So you'd think that spending fictitious capital would be impossible, but you'd be wrong. Our rich brethren spend fictitious capital every day. They also borrow against it, although it is, as the clear meaning of the words implies, not real. That's what makes it strange.

Do not attempt to spend some of it yourself. It only works for people who are already rich.

I discovered the phrase today in a Salon article about the failure of centrism in post-fiat money American politics. That's a deeper time-line than they were using; they only went back thirty years or so. But figuring post-Nixon is a better way to go. Post-silver-standard. Modern money has no intrinsic value, nor does any object or commodity. Things, and money, are worth whatever people will pay for them. That's why concert tickets cost hundreds of dollars now. It's mischief.

Fiat money is a vast generator of fictitious capital.

The phrase itself was coined by Karl Marx. Mr. Marx was talking about interest mostly, and also stocks and commodities. Interest is the cost of borrowing money, and it creates money out of thin air. Stocks, to be fair, were until recently rationally related to the value of the physical plant of the company and the accounts receivable, etc. Now the sky is the limit for stocks. Thin air is putting it mildly. Many companies exist for years on borrowed money, never make a nickel in profit, then go public and sell a billion dollars worth of stock. Now that, my friends, is thin air. That is FICTITIOUS CAPITAL!

Wall Street, not the place but the state of mind, has gone completely off the rails with this concept of making money out of thin air. They have proved over and over again how much they really need regulation. They are like a demented child playing with fire in the basement of a tenement. When things go wrong, they can go very, very wrong. Like in 2007! If you haven't seen the movie, “The Big Short,” you should look for it. It's on Netflix. Don't tell me that you don't have Netflix! The movie lays it all out very nicely. You can learn about those collateralized debt obligations, and all of their spin-offs, that almost destroyed the world's economy. They managed that because of CENTRIST DEREGULATION WHILE A DEMOCRAT WAS IN THE WHITE HOUSE. That would be Bill Clinton in the 1990s. Let's work together! It'll be great! What can we agree on? How about massive deregulation of the banking business, and let's shit-can social welfare programs while we're at it. All in the spirit of cooperation! It'll be centrist! Mischief, mischief, mischief.

Didn't work for Clinton; didn't work for Obama; not going to work for Biden.

It is, I suppose, mild consolation that most of the trillions of dollars now held by our tens of millions of billionaires is made up of fictitious capital. Facebook stock goes down five percent, and the holders lose a total of several billion dollars that day. It's cool, though, because the money never existed in the first place, although it seems to spend just fine on yachts, aircraft, ranches in Wyoming, and fine art. Not consoling at all is the fact that when their bank accounts go poof, leaving only a blue mist, our little bank accounts will also go poof.

The main problem, of course, is that you, dear reader, must pay your rent with real dollars. Donald Trump, the master of fictitious capital, could be a billion dollars underwater for all we know. He has assets, certainly, but he also has massive debts. He'll be fine though, because only the non-rich need to worry about such things. You'll get your ass kicked out into the street, but Donald will be in his golden monument to bad taste, shitting on a gold toilet, having a net worth of negative millions of dollars. Your net worth is higher than his, but you are shit out of luck, pal, because you're a taker, not a maker. We have rules in this country.

Isn't vocabulary fun?

Saturday, December 26, 2020

Howlin' Wolf - Evil (Is Going On)

Wolf's got the right idea. Keep both eyes open. Don't trust anybody. You don't hear the shot that kills you (although you might see the flash). 

And how about that Wolf! Can't he rock the house? If you ever meet a man like Chester, buy him a nice dinner and a couple of drinks. Never ask him for anything. Just buy him a drink when you see him. If people see him greeting you like a friend, they'll leave you alone. 

What Normal Are We Talking About?

There has been an awful lot of talk recently about some hypothetical return to normal. “The vaccine is coming,” said the New York Times on Xmas morning, “and Trump is going. Sometime in 2021, life will begin to look a lot more normal.” Please disabuse yourself of this lie immediately. There is no more normal. Normal is out of the question. We used up our entire stock of normal long ago.

Having said that, normal has always been overrated. People should pay more attention to history. What a shit-show.

2021 will be a profound disappointment. It will not be a return to anything. It will be a slow procession into the dense cloud of bullshit that is crowding out all of the clarity and security in the world. We are not facing one problem, or two. We are facing multiple simultaneous problems.

What does the Times foresee if only two small alleviations occur? We get “the” vaccine for COVID-19, and we get a new president? Even taken together, these things do not represent any kind of magic wand. They are not even a decent set of crutches to help us make forward progress.

The vaccine, for instance. People talk about the vaccine as though it were some panacea for all of our current confusion. Let's consider the vaccine for a moment. How many are there presently? The many now being rolled out include a Russian vaccine, but most people that I talk to don't trust it. Is it a fake? How about the Chinese vaccine? People seem to like the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines, but but there are doubts surrounding all of the current vaccines about how long they will be effective. Will they be effective against all strains? How many mutations are currently at work?

How many developing countries will get vaccine this year? Or even by 2022? Will they get Hail Mary vaccines from dubious sources, like India? Will the “international” hospitals in the developing countries get a supply of the real vaccines to sell at market prices? Like $100 per person? I could pay that for my wife and I, and I would, but most people in my adopted country could not.

And who in their right minds thinks that Trump is going away? Even if he leaves the White House, which is beginning to seem likely, why should he leave the political scene? All of the action, and all of the money, are right there. 71,000,000 people voted for that asshole. They still think he's a straight shooter! He's here to save the country! They're still sending money to his re-election campaign! Most of those yokels who pay attention to the mega-church “pastors” will stick with Trump even if the phony religious leaders abandon him.

There will be Q, and there will be idiocy, and there will be guns. And there will be Trump.

And there will be President Joe Biden. He is still the same Joe Biden that he has always been. I don't expect him to wake up and start doing the right thing all of a sudden. He has no track record of supporting or advancing any helpful social programs. Unless, that is, you are a fan of mass-incarceration. I've been laying off Joe because getting Trump un-elected was job one.

But Joe will reach across the isle! There will be cooperation in our polity! He may try, but there be no cooperation. It's enough to make me scream out loud that no one seems to remember what the Republicans did to President Obama only a few short years ago, and to ask people to recall the Republican's treatment of President Clinton is like asking them the beginning and ending dates for the Mexican-American War. You get dull stares.

Americans are not famous for their mastery of American History.

There's a lovely and very old Chinese proverb that says, “the mountains are high, and the Emperor is far away.” Get it? So what if the Emperor is an dangerous asshole. He's a thousand miles away in his palace, and there are huge mountains between us. We are safe to live our lives in peace, because we are far beyond the Emperor's ken. If there ever was a “normal” in America, it happened when the mountains were high, and the Emperor (the Federal Government) was far away. Small town America was relatively autonomous. Now, there are no mountains, and the Emperor is in your home. Your neighbor's doorbells video you leaving your house for work in the morning. Every traffic light reads your license plate to track your commute. Your phone tells the world where you are every moment of the day.

This is not the “new normal.” This is a weird dystopic vision brought to vivid life by our wonderful new technologies. Welcome to our nascent future. You're not going to like it.

What would normal look like, if such a thing were still possible?

Normal would be a luxurious ice cap covering the Arctic Sea.

Normal would be plentiful, inhabitable, comfortable islands in the southern and western Pacific Ocean. Remember Fiji? The Marianas? Tuvalu? Soon most of the Philippines will be so crushed by storms that vast areas will be abandoned for habitation. The others that I mentioned already get crushed all over again before they can be rebuilt. The populations are wondering: do we need to leave? The population of American Samoa is migrating to the continental United States as soon as it is individually practicable.

Normal was average Americans growing up, getting some kind of shit jobs, probably only the husband working, getting married, and being able to buy a house, have a car, and raise a family. After 1935, they had Social Security. They had a lot more security of all kinds than people have now.

Normal would be a slow and manageable break-off of portions of the Antarctic ice shelves. Now pieces as big as Rhode Island are breaking off. Normal was a “Greenland” that was some kind of joke, because it was actually white from coast to coast. Now the ice is quickly melting, and all of this fresh water is going into the oceans. We are seeing powerful effects on ocean water temperatures and salinity. The acidity of the water is changing. The flow of the major ocean currents is changing. Only jellyfish seem to like the new ocean water. No one will like it if the Gulf Stream turns south, causing everything north of Spain to freeze solid.

Normal was mild to moderate fire seasons in some states, and a mild to moderate hurricane season in the mid-Atlantic. We had regular wars and pandemics, too. Not all of the normal was pleasant. But it was more predictable, which made it all easier to deal with.

Whatever normal was, it is now long gone. Don't be shocked, because that won't do any good. We have made our new world, and now we must live in it. Its effects will vary from family to family, from country to country. They may hit you in between the eyes, or in the teeth. But they will hit you. If you are most people, they have hit you already.

The Mystery of It All

It's all very mysterious, this new world.

COVID-19 is the sniper of viruses. So many sufferers are asymptomatic. Their temperature is normal; they look and feel fine. They're just wandering around, touching everything and breathing on everybody. Not to mention that it hits everybody in a different way. It presents with different symptomology in young people as opposed to older people. There is also a wide range of ways that the virus can affect people of the same age and medical history. Do they get the “second week crash” or not? Will they be in the ICU for a month, or will they go home in three days? Many sufferers are simply sent home from the hospital and told to quarantine themselves, stay in bad, and take Tylenol or something.

The vaccine idea has elements of mystery to it as well. There are now something like four that are being distributed and administered, with another four or so to follow soon. These are all different. No one is quite sure for how long they will be effective. Some of them may require booster shots every year or two. How will that all play out?

COVID-19 will find a way to lurk out in the corners for a long time, decades if we are particularly unlucky. A no longer surprising number of people are saying that they will not take the vaccine. Their reasons vary from almost reasonable to completely insane. No, people, Bill Gates is not using the vaccine to put the Mark of the Beast on you. George Soros is not using the vaccine to track everyone in the entire world.

Warfare. The nature of warfare has changed, and most people seem not to have noticed. The old formula, front lines advancing, occupying territory, blowing shit up, armies wearing uniforms, all of that has changed. The number of countries around the world that are either building or buying aircraft carriers is shocking to me. Isn't that a bit like building battleships after 1944? The days of their utility may have passed. Battleships still functioned nicely as bombardment platforms after their obsolescence, but their original role as ship-to-ship gun fighters was as dead as the dodo.

There will still be the local dust-ups in the ungovernable areas of the world, but war will heretofore be much quieter for the major powers. We are probably at war with Russia this very moment, an undeclared cyber war. And with other countries as well. North Korea for sure. Maybe China. Even against satellites, it seems like a waste of resources to use rockets of some kind to blow them up. Why not just hack them, and infect them with viruses? Or, even better, repurpose them and use them against their original owners?

Why expend vast resources on manpower, explosives, and delivery systems to destroy an enemy's infrastructure when you can launch a computer attack and accomplish the same thing from the comfort of your bunker in Colorado? The Russians have been doing dry-runs for years, and are ready to hit the ground running the minute the next war starts in earnest. They had a great success shutting down a large segment of the Ukrainian electronic grid simply by reprogramming the transformers to overspin themselves into destruction. That experiment achieved all of its goals. It proved that they could do it, and it proved to the Ukrainians that they were helpless to resist Mother Russia. This very month (December, 2020) the news has been full of reports regarding hacks in various American intelligence agencies. The Russians love to poke around inside our most sensitive computer systems, testing their own capabilities, and leaving back-doors to facilitate future attacks. Just sightseeing! For now.

In more conventional areas of warfare, there have been great advances in the miniaturization of nuclear bombs and the speed and accuracy of their delivery systems. Things could get very exciting.

Our Climate. Everyone seems to agree that we have a serious problem with the climate, and also to agree that we are not doing enough about it. The general response, however, seems to be, “let's wait and see what happens.” Really, that is not going to work.

We should all have learned from our own little lives that foreseeing potential problems and making effective plans is a much better way to manage our lives than coasting along and allowing the decisions to make themselves.

The mysteries here will bring difficult choices. Which areas of the world will become uninhabitable, and in what order? Who will be a host country to displaced populations? Which crops will begin to fail first? What will people eat when the staple crop of their area fails?

We are already seeing Pacific island nations beginning to give up in the face of these numerous super-storms. We are already seeing various plants failing to propagate due to rising temperatures in their regions. I suppose that I'm starting to sound like a geezer version of Greta Thunberg, but I think that lovely young woman is absolutely correct in her main thesis: all of our so-called leaders, every one of them, has a sacred responsibility to husband our life-sustaining environment and resources, and they are all failing even to take the problem seriously.

That, to me, is a real mystery. It is also a fatal error in judgment on their part. This isn't a harmless game of kick-the-can (down the road, as it were).

Normal” is a relative term. Normal is a word used to describe prevailing conditions, whatever they are. A popular word to describe the prevailing conditions where soldiers were located during World War II was, “SNAFU.” (Situation normal, all fucked up.) There was a lot of talk about “normal” during the presidential election of 1920. Warren Harding's slogan was “return to normalcy.” He was talking about the situation that prevailed before World War I. Is the New York Times suggesting that we return to the situation that prevailed before the election of Trump? The eight years of Mr. Obama's presidency? What sane person would want to go through that again?

Maybe this is just the sad admission that we have been tolerating inadequate leaders and terrible conditions for the entirety of human history, and with Trump we achieved the certain knowledge that America's political system is so full of holes that a really dangerous, deranged man like Trump can waltz right in and take over, making matters exponentially worse. Our great luck is that Trump is no Hitler, no Stalin. Trump is more of a “Killer Klown from Outer Space.” He will not be taking power permanently. The way has been shown, though, and lurkers in the dark have been taking notes. We may not be as lucky the next time, and if nothing is done to firm up the foundation of our political way of life, there will definitely be a next time.

Wednesday, December 23, 2020

The Velvet Underground - Foggy Notion (Audio)

1969, the year that I got married. 

Best First Wife Ever!

I'm on a fence about posting this. I'm leaning towards “yes,” because everything that I have to say about my first wife is positive. I've loved the woman since I met her, and I still do love her. I believe that marrying her was a great bit of luck, and I am grateful for every minute of the marriage and sincerely grateful for everything that she did for us, me and our boys. My only regret is that the marriage imploded short of the target date. I was written out of the script at the end of the second act, and I would rather have been a main character until “The End.” Having nothing bad to say about the whole situation, I suppose I'll go ahead and finish this and post it.

We were married for over forty years! There was a time when I would joke that, “we've been married for thirty-five years, and it's been about twenty-seven of the best years of my life.” She never liked that.

The woman's most prominent feature is her remarkable energy. This surfeit of energy turned out to be a mixed blessing, at least for me it did. On one hand, She got an awful lot done everyday, and organized her career around a self-run business that was very successful. Her many side-projects were also energetically pursued and yielded good results. On the other hand, her sheer drive made her nature somewhat demanding, and she was often disappointed in the slower pace of other people's lives. Like me, for instance. The effort that was required to put up with me finally became too much for her to bear.

There was a time when I thought that it would be a great idea to teach my first wife the game of poker and take her down to the Bicycle Club in Los Angeles and set her loose on the unsuspecting marks that played there all the time. She is a highly intelligent woman, very good at reading people and manipulating them, and she is extremely competitive. She was already engaged in competitions of her own design with everyone that she knew, friends, family, me, agencies of the State and Federal government, and everyone in her profession. The competitions themselves were never the goal. No, the goal was always to win. She'd have out-grown the Bicycle Club within a year or two, and would quickly have made her mark in Vegas.

She imagined our marriage as a catalog of struggles. Our marriage was the nexus of many little wars, against the background of constant tests and comparisons. Who is doing more housework? (Hint: less housework wins.) Who is making more money? Who is making decisions about the boys' lives? Who is spending more money? We did everything her way. There was no discussion. I simply complied with her wishes. Well, to the greatest degree possible.

We discover in life that there are things that we can do, and there are complications that can get in the way of our attempts to do other things. Our personalities, or our temperaments, or our learned behavior patterns, or our body chemistry, any of these things can make it impossible to do what is desired of us. No one can simply wish away depression, or a fearful temperament, or various anxieties. Maybe this is not the time to bring up my shortcomings. I recognize them, but as the three-time loser said when the judge asked him if he had anything to say in his defense, “your honor, whom amongst us is poifect?”

Everything was a competition for my first wife. She had two sisters, and thank God both of them only had two children. We had two children ourselves, which made it a three way tie. To lose that battle with her sisters would have killed her. She became, and remained, furious at me because we tried for years to conceive a third child. Nature did not allow it. Part of her desire for a third child was a desire to achieve a clear win over her sisters. The other part was that her own mother had had three children, thus setting the goal for another competition. Losing that one to her mother became a real sore point in our relationship, because she believed that it was obviously due to a physical failure in me, or I wore the wrong kind of underwear, or something. I had certainly not shirked my responsibilities in the attempt. Something wrong with me, though, definitely. Maybe a motility problem, or a lack of vitamin B. I'm not a doctor, and we did not consult fertility specialists. She remained furious at her mother and me over that loss, long after her mother's death.

We enjoyed eating out. I learned early on never to answer the simple question, “where should we have dinner?” I only answered with a non-response in the form of a question. Like, “what are you in the mood for?” Or, “where haven't we eaten in a while?” Long ago I would suggest somewhere. Maybe, “let's go to Vito's.” She would always respond angrily. “I'm never going to Vito's again! Every time we ate there we were the youngest people in the room! Only old people eat at Vito's!” Any place that I suggested would get that treatment. So yeah, “what are you in the mood for?” was a much better way to go.

We also always vacationed where she wanted to go, bought and sold cars when she said so, modified our house according to her instructions and her schedule, and once we moved from Los Angeles to New York for a year because she had a reason to want to be there for a while. I never minded being the back-seater in the crew, the Goose to her Maverick. There was always something in it for me. For instance, when we went to New York for that year, I was given the chance to finish up a BA at my old university. She got a well-paying, high powered job in her field, and the trip met all of the goals of her agenda for it.

She was an exciting woman, very lively, and beautiful besides. We had a lot of laughs, and I was always proud to introduce myself as her husband at affairs for her various activities. She wanted to be the boss, well, let her be the boss! I saw no harm in that, but she could be funny about certain things. Many things.

Toilet flushing in the middle of the night was an issue where my first wife's orders changed every six or eight months. Sometimes it was a water conservation issue, and I was forbidden to ever flush the toilet during the sleep period. Other times it was a smell issue, and I was ordered to flush every time I used the toilet. At other times it was liable to become a noise issue, and flushing the toilet was forbidden because it woke her up. All of that was easy, though. Just pay attention and follow the rules wherever they led.

Dish rinsing was another sensitive issue. We were married for many years before we had a dishwasher. I stand powerfully opposed to allowing any food to dry onto the dirty dishes, and I generally prefer to procrastinate by not doing the dishes immediately. This resulted in me comprehensively rinsing dirty dishes before stacking them in the sink. (California is an In-sink-erator state, so food down the drain is not a problem.) My first wife was a conservationist on this issue, and felt like I was wasting water by doing all of that rinsing. To make the matter worse, even after we got a dishwasher, I tended to rinse dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. I'm sure all of that was due to the poor toilet training that I received as a child.

All of this worrying about water was silly, of course, and pointless. I played golf, so I knew what real water-wasting looked like. I saw how all of the golf courses just left spigots open all day with the water running down the drain. That was in addition to their vast use of water to maintain the green grass over the entire course in the middle of a desert, with humidity down about ten percent, and the sun blasting down as though it were fifty meters away. They left all of the spigots on to insure that their water allotment would not be cut for the next year. Bear in mind that in Los Angeles, golf courses are as common as temples in Thailand. Every neighborhood has one. If every family in Los Angeles rinsed dishes like I did, it wouldn't add up to one tenth of one percent of what the golf courses wasted. But I always tried to follow my first wife's program, and to keep up with the frequent changes.

My first wife did all of the bill paying for the family. Those days, it was all done by mail, receive a bill, send a check. We put our pay into the same bank account, and the checks were drawn on that. Every couple of years she'd get sick of it, and yell that it was my turn, she was sick of doing the bills every month. After getting a look at all of the bills, I would inevitably become alarmed at our spending. “The balances on the cards are too high,” I'd explain. “I don't think we should use the cards at all for at least three months, and we should start sending them at least $50 over the minimum every month.” She would start gathering up all of the paperwork. “You don't know what you're doing,” she'd say, “give me that.”

I never found any of this annoying. I love the woman! Early in our marriage I would find arguments in this competitive atmosphere, but I stopped competing at some point. I learned how to avoid disagreements in my town growing up, where disagreements frequently led to fighting. I'm not sure if my increasing passivity became part of the problem. More likely it was a mixture of disappointment and compassion fatigue.

We joined the Peace Corps at age fifty-five, which came to me as quite a surprise. Although she had never shared the desire me me, she had hoped to serve in the Peace Corps since its inception when we were both in high school. Kennedy's speech drew her to it. I readily acceded to the idea. It would never have occurred to me to suggest it, but I liked the sound of it. We were “invited” to serve in Thailand after a lengthy application process. We worked on modernizing the grammar school English curriculum and teacher development issues. I thrived in the role, but she was homesick and miserable after about six months. She rode out the enlistment, because not to finish what she had started would be a black mark in the “loss” column in her philosophy. Two years shoulder to shoulder, sleeping and waking, working and relaxing, almost every minute of every day, was the last straw. I had officially become much too annoying.

Her plan to be rid of me was ingenious. It worked perfectly, except for one small detail. Thank God for California's Community Property laws! She wouldn't file for a divorce, because that would look too much like a failing on her part. Instead, she maneuvered me into filing. I was unemployed for a while when we returned from Thailand, and she asked me very seriously, “could you get a job if you went back to Thailand? Get a job and support yourself?” Of course, that would be easy, and in the event, within seven days of returning I had a perfectly good job and a place to live. I thought that I was coming back for a year or so, just to give her a break. I had the first job for a while, and then got a much better job with a one year contract. I told her in an e-mail that after the contract, I'd really like to come home. I missed her, and our sons, and everything. That's when she let the cat out of the bag. “I can't live with you anymore. Don't come back here.”

I gave her a bit of push-back, but she was adamant. “I really feel like it's time to come home,” I said. Her reply was, “make your own long range plans; maybe you would like Oregon.”

I waited five years for her to change her mind. Five years living alone and having no girlfriend. The job worked out superbly. I'm still there. I returned to Los Angeles for a visit every year, but she always said, “you're better off where you are. You can learn to take care of yourself. Stay in Thailand.” Finally, to drive home the point, she agreed to pay me to stay away. That's when I realized that she was serious.

Her plan was to be rid of me, but not get divorced. That way there would be no division of property. She knew that I couldn't support myself in California, or any of the other forty-nine states, especially without a property settlement. She wanted me to remain far away, leaving her to be in sole possession and control of our property.

At some point I had to stand up for my legal rights. On a visit, I told her, “I don't want to rush you. I want you to have plenty of time to plan your future without me. But this time next year we need to file for a divorce.” There was no way that I could take full financial control of the rest of my life without the financial settlement.

She just said, ”I don't want to get divorced.” Fortunately for me, California is a “no fault” divorce state, with Community Property style property settlements. If one partner files, it's a done deal, as long as the property settlement follows the rules.

I think that it has worked out okay. I remarried a few years after the divorce was final. A nice, normal, age-appropriate Thai woman with a decent education, by the way. I'm no cradle robber. I bought a nice condo in what has been my neighborhood for thirteen years now, close to my university, and my favorite mall, and my hospitals, my doctors, and my dentists. Things are okay.

I hope that my first wife is also doing well. I receive no updates on the subject. She really fit the bill for a great first wife. Between the two of us, we made a good living and built a good life for ourselves. We raised two wonderful men, who are good men, good friends, good husbands, good workers, and good neighbors. One of them is even a very good father! (That's not a dig. Only one of them has been blessed with children.) That's my family, and I love them all. If I was ultimately a disappointment to my first wife, that is not exactly a surprise. I was also a disappointment to my parents. But those relationships, both over now, are cut in stone. Death and divorce are only changes in legal status. In our dreams, our family remains our family.

My Thai wife is a wonderful second wife. Confucius said, “a common man gets angry; a wise man understands.” It's been years since I've seen my second wife angry, and that wasn't even directed at me. You could say that she cools down before she gets angry. She understands. It is perhaps the greatest good luck of my life to have been blessed with a wonderful first wife, perfect for that busy time of life, and a wonderful second wife, perfect as a companion and a comfort in my old age.

I have often said, as depressed as I have always been, I know that I am a very lucky man. If I can get through the time remaining to me without disappointing my current wife, that will be the icing on the cake.

Friday, December 18, 2020

When you want Mayo to win the All Ireland

Pack up your troubles in your COVID bag and smile, smile, smile along with old Farmer Michael. Parental Advisory; Not Safe For Work; and watch yourself, you might laugh yourself silly. 

For the uninitiated, be assured that Mr. Stevo is a fine gentleman, and not prejudiced at all, or maybe just hardly. This is satire, and Farmer Michael is played for laughs, although he does make a lot of sense sometimes. 

The Velvet Underground - What goes on (1969)

We live in weird times. Here. Take ten minutes and decompress a little bit. 

"What The Fuck!" Is The New Normal

Somewhere around the time when grunts and burbles were advancing in the process of becoming words, a group of primitive hunters were creeping around a forest waiting for an opportunity to present itself. They quietly came across some kind of manageable prey, and they slowly maneuvered themselves downwind and loaded their throwing sticks with spears. Before they could launch their missiles, some kind of big saber-toothed cat dropped out of a tree onto the prey animal's back, sunk its huge teeth into the victim's neck. One of the modern but unsophisticated hominids blurted out, “what the fuck!!!” That was the beginning of a linguistic tradition that continues to this very day. (“WTF!”)

I'm sure that many readers are already thinking, “yeah, this is about Trump, for sure.” You may be certain that it is, but I am a rambling, shambling story-teller, so give me a minute to warm up to my subject.

Modern media has given us access to the close secondhand experience of every weird, shocking, fantastic, belief-defying event in the entire world, whether terrifying or terrific. YouTube; Instagram; Facebook; specialty websites; it's all spread out there for us to see. For those who prefer to read the details, that vicarious experience is also available. We get these opportunities whether the experiences are good for us or bad. We see things, or read about them, and then we often wish that we had never been subjected to the knowledge of them. In the visual realm I am especially careful to avoid eye contact with many varieties of the entertainments that now present themselves. Just the reading bits can leave a mark on you.

For instance, about seven years ago I came across a story on a reputable news aggregation site that drew my attention. “Man Dies After Having Sex With Horse.” Now I am a man of the world, and I know that the practice of men engaging in sex with farm animals exists. One most often hears about it in connection with female sheep, or dogs. It makes the man an object of ridicule, which is only proper, and it doesn't do much for the reputation of a good dog either. I had never given the matter much thought, and previous to this article, my greatest WTF moment in connection with the practice was the discovery that in some civilized countries sex with farm animals is a popular sub-category of the local pornography. Well, you think that you know somebody. The world is full of surprises.

Man Dies . . .” I read the article because I wondered how fucking a mare could be fatal. Also, I assumed that there must have been some interesting kind of make-shift platform involved, to make up for the size difference, and it's always interesting to read the list of charges filed by police. As for the death, I was betting on either a heart attack or a massive back-kick from the horse. Brother, I was way off.

The horse was not a mare, but a stallion. An intact stallion; a sexually active stallion. Yes, there was a specially built platform involved, and the man was kneeling on it. He died as a result of several internal injuries, which were in the general category of “perforations.” It turns out that this is a thing, a thing that does not usually result in death. There are multiple entrepreneurs who own ranches out there in the woods and provide the service. I guess this stallion got carried away. If the article described any criminal charges, I have no recollection of them. Perhaps I was in shock. This story became, and remains, my benchmark for WTF.

As the great Bob Dylan once said, “the times, they are a'changing.” As the great Eddie Cantor famously said, “[we] ain't heard nothin' yet!” There is a pyramid of WTF now under construction that will put to shame not only Giza, but also that rampant stallion and his unfortunate boyfriend.

We just had a presidential election. You may have noticed. This is nothing unusual. There have been nineteen presidential elections in my lifetime. They haven't all gone smoothly, but the losers had, without exception, graciously accepted their defeat and offered a timely concession. Every outgoing administration, without exception, had cooperated fully in the transition to a new regime. This has been a point of pride in the United States. The world's great fortress of democracy! We play by the rules here! Fair is fair! The nation comes first! That's the way that it's always been.

The elections themselves may be a different story. There have been thumbs placed on scales. Several of these elections were affected by illegal behind the scenes machinations. (1968 and 1980, and probably 2016.) One was decided by murder. (Go ahead and guess.) There were some pretty vicious contests, and harsh words were often applied to opponents (whether the opponent replied in kind or not). The appearance of third party candidates has often stunk of mischief (George Wallace; Jessie Jackson; H. Ross Perot; Ralph Nader). The governor of a swing state took over the voting process in his state and, with the assistance of conveniently appointed Justices of the Supreme Court, stole an election for his own brother (2000). But still, none of this rises to the flood tide of illegality, abuse of legal process, poor taste, and sheer insane bullshit that we are witnessing now, here in December, 2020, six weeks after the sitting president lost decisively after a single term in office.

All of which brings us to our current What The Fuck situation, and it is one for the ages. It is part of a tsunami of WTF that has gone global. It is a worldwide WTF. Humanity as a whole has lost its ability to separate fantasy from reality, and what the fuck is that all about?

In this instance, this inability seems to have arisen spontaneously. Sure, politicians in certain countries pushed the delusion along, but I think that the essential problem arose from circumstances, a vast coincidence of circumstances. Computers happened, and people did things that could be done with computers. Mass communication spread to the four corners of the earth. Everyone from Eskimos to Wall Street bankers to Cargo Cultists to Portland hipsters to Amazon rain-forest Indians watches the same CNN. Many ordinary people became prosperous, fat, and lazy minded, and they confused their elevated social condition with high intelligence. Heads all over the world were filled with crap, and they jumped to bizarre conclusions en masse. Although their strings are being pulled by a ruling class, they do not bear the typical indicia of a manipulated class. Our new reality had the seeds of fantasy in it, and people only needed a nudge to make the leap into irrationality.

Rampant greed and corruption after about 1980 pushed the entire Republican party, most of the rest of the political and corporate apparatus, and more and more average Joes into the irrational zone. Deregulation, blah, blah, computerized stock trading, blah, blah, collateralized debt obligations (real and synthetic, you can't make this stuff up), the black president, and then, the coup de main, Donald Trump! What could go wrong! War is peace; freedom is slavery; ignorance is strength. Pay no attention to the men behind the curtain, those doughy, luxury-besotted white guys smoking Cohibas and getting blow jobs from sorority girls while they laugh at the working stiffs whose lives they are dismantling as quickly as possible. And into all of this shit steps the WTF extravaganza of all time: the stolen election!

Editorial comment: I got scooped by the Supreme Court before I could post this thing, and the reaction of the Supremes was anti-climactic, thank the Gods. This particular sequence of actions by our elected officials is still worth examining.

We were five weeks post election, and Trump was still insisting that he had won. Even now, his reelection committee continues to raise money from his stooges (about $200,000,000 at this time), and Trump says that he is saving America from the “greatest fraud in political history.” His gang of crack attorneys has lost almost sixty court actions since the election, but they continue to file law suits everywhere trying to get votes thrown out, or recounts without those pesky mail in ballots, or signatures triple checked, any damn thing that sounds like a legal argument. Judges are starting to lose their tempers, on the record, in open court.

The really breathtaking What the Fuck moment came on or about December 11th, after every state, Red or Blue, had certified the vote count, certified the Electoral College situation, and declared Joe Biden the winner, and by a wide margin. The Trump lame duck administration then somehow got the Attorney General of Texas to file a lawsuit directly against four other states praying that the results in those states be overturned, and Trump declared the winner! That's a law suit between the sovereign states of America, and the original jurisdiction for such law suits lies in the Supreme Court.

The gall required for one man, or one AG's office, to do this, is beyond imagination. But it got worse. The White House, of course, joined the suit. Six states officially joined the law suit. (Arkansas; Louisiana; Mississippi; Missouri; South Carolina; and Utah, to break up the Confederate tone of the proceedings.) The Attorneys General of an additional seventeen states, acting together, filed an amicus brief, which means they want to lend moral support while not putting their own asses on the line. 106 (one hundred and six) Republican members of the House of Representatives also filed an amicus brief. The Supreme Court wasn't having any of it. They just shrugged it off with a decision consisting of one short paragraph, on the grounds of lack of standing. Even so, this was still some Top-of-the-Pops WTF.

The Texas AG who got this ball of shit rolling? Why was he doing this? He needs a presidential pardon, because the law has been after his dumb ass over what, I do not care to know. The rest of them? All Republicans, we must always remember who we're talking about here. What was in it for them? Are they all still afraid to make Trump angry? Are they afraid to alienate Trump's base? After all, 71,000,000 Americans voted for the guy.

The voice of reason in that mess, and possibly the lead counsel for the defense if the case had gone forward, was Chris Carr, the Attorney General of Georgia. He is a solid Republican who was just not having that shit. Not after triple checking the vote count in his state and verifying three signatures for every vote more than once. His patience had run out. He went on TV and said that the law suit was “constitutionally, legally, and factually wrong,” which I thought was reasonable. He got a nice, long, threatening phone call from Trump himself after that statement.

He turns a nice phrase, Mr. Carr. In his filing with the Supreme Court, he said, “[t]he novel and far reaching claims that Texas assert, and the breathtaking remedies it seeks, are impossible to ground in legal principles and unmanageable. This Court has never allowed one state to co-opt the legislative authority of another state, and there are no limiting or manageable principles to cabin that kind of overreach.”

The Supreme Court agreed with Mr. Carr.

The adults in all of this were few and hard to find. Only twenty-seven Republicans in Congress will admit that Joe Biden won the election. Much worse than that, a statistical calamity, is that 71,000,000 Americans voted for Trump, and that two-thirds of the self-identified Republicans among them believe that the election was “rigged.” (From a Reuters/ Ipsos poll.)

Trump, of course, still refuses to concede, still refuses to admit that he got beat. That he lost. He knows that he will be leaving the White House, but he will never admit that he lost the election. Now we can look forward to the spectacle of Trump complaining loudly about “the stolen election,” and various militia groups threatening or actually shooting people. Some of us have seen Presidents fuck up royally in our lifetimes, and we have noticed an unfortunate trend: when individuals, parties, or circumstances, present a genuine threat to our democracy, the matter will be swept under the rug with as little ceremony as possible to avoid anything that could erode people's confidence in our government.

That will happen in this case as well. Any normal person in Trump's situation would easily be driven into obscurity by a combination of pardons and failures to prosecute. It's been four years now, and society and the media and the political establishment still insist on treating Trump like a normal human being. So we'll get the worst of all possible worlds: no justice for the aggrieved, and Trump still parading around complaining about how badly he has been treated, and how he really won the election, and how Joe Biden is a socialist stooge, and whipping up his MAGA idiots and the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers to generate as much mischief as possible, while threatening to run again in 2024, mostly as an excuse to raise money, which he will use to support his lifestyle. Don't forget, Trump's expenses will jump shortly after his removal from office. Between the divorce, settling scores, finding a new fake-breasted trophy wife, and filing numerous law suits on multiple subjects, Trump's budget will be stressed. Baby needs a new pair of shoes! “White House Apprentice,” coming soon to Fox Entertainment!

I have a good idea of how we got into this mess, and I shed some light on that subject in my wonderful book, “Political Rants: Lefty Vitriol in the Age of Obama and Trump,” available almost free on Amazon (99 cents, Kindle). The current state of What The Fuck now in progress is painful to even consider. How do we get out of this mess is a question for the ages. I wonder if any of our current crop of geniuses is up to that task.

And What the Fuck! 3,600 Americans died last Wednesday (December 16th) of COVID-19! That's over 300,000 all together! More killed than in all of World War II! What the Fuck? The Russians hacked into dozens of our government agencies, intelligence services, and corporate headquarters, all at once? And Trump hasn't mentioned it? And what? What the Fuck! The Pfizer COVID vaccine is just sitting in warehouses, or sitting on loading docks back at the factory, because no one has given instructions regarding its distribution? And the MAGA people dying up at the hospital are groaning at the doctor with their last breath that COVID-19 is a hoax! What the Holy Mother-Fucking Fuck is that all about?

The way that things are going, I wouldn't bet you a dollar that the sun will come up in the East tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Stubborn All Stars - Open Season

I have this cut on a Hellcat Records sampler from the late 1990s. It's always been a favorite of mine. I never knew anything about them, but a cursory search for evidence shows that these fellows were part of a swirling mass of musicians who came together and made records, were blown around by the winds of ego and money, came together in different order to make more records, broke up again, came together again, etc. 

Some of the combinations, including Skinnerbox, included King Django on the vocals. King Django, aka, "Not the Average White Man in a Suit." I have always thought that Ska was a great idea. 

Monday, December 14, 2020

The Last War (1961) - International English Trailer (480p)

Great movie, if you can find it. 

Or, you could just read my almost-a-movie-review. Just click the link!

Or, if that doesn't work, you can cut and paste! Some wonderful day, in a hundred years or so, there will be computers for sale that actually help us the way they're supposed to. 

Monday, December 7, 2020

Be Young Be Foolish Be Happy - The Tams - 1968

The accompanying blurb describes this cut as a "Beach Music/ Northern Soul" classic. It can be hard to pin either of those genres down. 

Beach Music, I believe, is a collection of records that were popular in the musical venues of the Myrtle Beach area of the Carolinas. If the songs share anything, it is a lively, consistent, danceable beat. Beach Music is admirably salt and pepper in its racial makeup. Many of the records, such as this Tams record here, were by black artists. Bill Deal and the Rhondels are an iconic Beach Music band, as white as snow. 

The canon does seem to have a considerable overlap with Northern Soul. This is all dance music, so the beat is critical to a song's usefulness. I watch some Northern Soul videos on YouTube, and I can't say that I've ever heard a song by a white act. (Edit: I just heard "Nobody Like Me" by the Human Beinz over the dancers at the Blackpool Tower Weekend.) Or seen a black dancer, now that I think of it. Beach Music goes back to the 1960s and 1970s, so those dance clubs may have been segregated for all I know. In the 1950s and early 1960s, whole beaches would have been segregated. I'll let one of you social scientists out there tackle that issue. 

I like the instant song, and it's good advice too. "Be young, be foolish, be happy." Take heed, you yongsters. You will not be young forever. Two twenty-year-olds can have a date that lasts forty-eight hours, and stay focused on the object of the date for most of that time. Get that out of your system while you can, boys and girls. That super power will fade. 

Friday, December 4, 2020

Executions Should Be Easy

This has been a recurring topic on this blog. What on earth could be easier than taking a human life? There are a million ways to do it. It happens every day, the taking of life, and it is accomplished with little difficulty by people who range from highly intelligent to kind of stupid. Physical strength might be an advantage, but it is in no way required. Ordinary people who resolve to murder someone succeed most of the time, but when the government undertakes to murder someone, all of a sudden it's an unconquerable dilemma. What's all the hubbub, bub?

All of the traditional methods of execution have been discarded as either too brutal or too messy, yet the United States remains determined to murder miscreants in numerous categories. They settled on lethal injection in or around 1977. What followed was a waking nightmare for the condemned prisoners, their families, and the public employees charged with administering the “injection.”

After endless stays and appeals, the process itself bears no resemblance to a simple injection. You'd think that it would be easy. Just fasten the lucky winner to a Lazy-Boy (TM) chair and give him a gentle shot of Fentanyl to cool him out. Let him relax for a short time listening to his favorite music. He may nod out, or he will at least be on Cloud-9. Then administer the fatal dose of Fentanyl. No one, I repeat, no one survives a massive overdose of Fentanyl. Hell, dozens of people every day die from accidental recreational overdoses of Fentanyl, or heroin, or Oxy. None of the doomed prisoners would complain about this type of execution, and it would be much less emotionally damaging to the prison staff as well. So of course we're not going to do that.

Instead of doing it so gently and quickly, every death-penalty state has some kind of contraption to administer multiple drugs in a particular order. They create special tables shaped like crucifixes that the celebrant must be strapped onto. The lucky winner is then catheterized and hooked up to the rather large, multi-colored array of muscle relaxers and poisons that will kill him. All of this takes time, and is done before a live studio audience. The condemned prisoner can watch as the first chemical comes down the tube and into his arm, followed by the second, and the third. This drama is sometimes followed by the death of the person on the strange table. Sometimes it goes horribly wrong, and the audience is treated to long periods of moaning and squirming. Mistakes are made with the order of the chemicals, or the nature of the chemicals, and the target of the enterprise may only start screaming, and straining at his restraints, while not dying at all. Someone ordered the wrong chemicals, or the usual chemicals were not available and substitutions were made on the fly. Sorry, Charlie! In which galaxy could this be considered a humane method of execution? There is nothing remotely humane about it in my estimation.

Our increasingly deranged president has directed the Department of Justice to forget all of this lethal injection crap in favor of a return to more traditional methods of execution. Methods that are even less humane than lethal injection. He's a death-penalty fan, evidently, and he's been on a tear since he lost the election trying to kill as many condemned prisoners as he can before January 20th. I guess he wants to speed up the process.

He wants a return to death by hanging; death in electric-chairs; death in gas chambers; and death by firing squad. All of these things are no less problematic than those stupid lethal injections.

Most of the shortcomings of these methods are well known, and were included in the articles that have been appearing on the subject. They include:

Hanging is a mathematical challenge. It always has been. There are many variables. The weight of the prisoner to be hanged; the sturdiness of the neck that will hopefully be snapped; the dimensions of the prisoner's head; the crafting of a proper noose in the proper size. Drop the person too far, and the head tears off; not far enough, and the person dangles awkwardly and slowly strangles.

Electric chairs are also subject to variables. Not enough electricity and the subject slowly boils in their own juices. Too much electricity and the subject may burst into flames. Wasn't it Florida that had an electric-chair with a cute nickname? I can't think of it right now. Was it Old Sparky? That thing was over-amped. Flames and sparks would shoot out of the condemned prisoner's eyes and ears.

Gas chambers were a stupid idea in the first place. For one thing, doesn't it seem like something that Ming the Merciless would try to do to Flash Gordon? You get the old strapped to a chair routine, with windows for the audience to see the process, and then the release of some kind of poison gas. This all went wrong frequently. In practice, the gas had wildly different effects on the various celebrants. Life clings to some people like barnacles cling to a battleship, so there would often be a prolonged period of moaning.

The firing squad may be the most difficult to pull off. That's too many shooters to manage comfortably. Men, and these days they would make sure to include women in the squad, do not take easily to this duty. How many in the squad? Between five and ten? Minus the one whose gun is loaded with blanks? They're supposed to shoot to kill a person who is bound to a post? Or these days more likely strapped to a wall? No way this is going to go smoothly. Most firing squad members are going to avoid firing the death-shot. This is what was happening in the last states to give up the practice. Seven man squad, one with blanks, and the prisoner would end up with six non-fatal bullets in him, hanging there slowly bleeding to death. In a proper traditional firing squad, the captain of the squad would have approached the victim and shot him in the head with his pistol, that's the coup de grace, die Gnadenschuss (the mercy shot). It appears that we are out of the mercy business at this point.

Why has Trump called for these old-school punishments to be brought back now? Is this another case of red meat for his base? The low-functioning portion of his base at least. I'm sure that his rich fans are just as horrified as the rest of us. Secretly, that is, because we know that there is nothing lurid and stupid enough to scare them away from those glorious tax cuts, with the hope of further cuts to follow.

I have hated the Twenty-First Century with a passion almost from its first day, and certainly since that pathetic circus that was Bush v. Gore. The whole thing has been an unfunny carnival of idiocy, from W. Bush throwing away a budget surplus on a foolish tax cut for the rich (“it's your money!”), up to and including whatever Trump is Tweeting about today. The cherry on the Cake of Fools is the fact that seventy-one million voters cast their ballots to reelect Donald Trump, who is manifestly a bad person, a bad businessman, a bad politician, and the worst president in history. What were they thinking? Oh, that's right, Q-Anon, etc., they were saving America from those socialist Demon-Rats. This election will long be taught as the greatest failure in the history of Political Science.

Thursday, December 3, 2020

David Bowie - 1. Uncle Floyd - Toy Album

I guess the Toy album was remixed and released as Heathen. This song, "Uncle Floyd," underwent some modification and became, "Slip Away." 

Slip Away

David Bowie, from the album "Heathen." 

Seems like David was an Uncle Floyd fan. That was in his favor. 

Tuesday, December 1, 2020

Uncle Floyd Show: Bones Boy and Skip

I'm a big fan of art that is low-brow and home-made. I find irreverence to be a big plus. This goes for music, visual arts, and performative arts. I find endearing art that might be borderline annoying, but which displays flashes of brilliance. The buy-in, for my approval, is that the artist, or artists, must exhibit a spirit of fun and enthusiasm. 

My little family and I lived in New York for only one year in the middle of the 1980s, and during that year I discovered the Uncle Floyd Show. I can't recall exactly how that happened, and it does not seem likely, given the fact that the show appeared at six o'clock on a bare-bones UHF channel from New Jersey, an on-the-cheap PBS channel. Channel 68? Something like that. How I stumbled onto that channel and this show on the shitty little black and white TV with rabbit ears in my mother's kitchen, after I had invited myself, my then wife, my two sons, and my dog, to move in with them for a year so I could finish up my BA, is something of a mystery. 

I've been checking YouTube for a long time, and never found anything much, barely a mention. Now, suddenly, there's a lot of it. It still rings all of my bells.