Wednesday, January 30, 2008

PICK-A-POL (part 5)

THE FUZZBUSTER™

In a rigid two-party system that often sounds more like a one-party system, it’s fairly easy for any red or blue-blooded American to become disaffected. The question often being, do I waste my vote on that overly conservative Democrat or that too damn liberal Republican? Either way, the result is often the same. Over and over again, we simply pass our national hand basket to a different satanic steward. If you remember your mythology, the divergent rivers of Acheron and Cocytus both lead to the same dreary place.

So here we are, better than halfway across the Styx, and it’s hard to imagine a third party hero emerging with the power to turn our boat around. With the shores of Hades fast approaching, the best we reluctant voyagers can hope for is a splinter in the oarsman’s hand.

Allow me to introduce those splinters, or as they’re known by their political brand, the Fuzzbusters. Like the radar-detecting devices that give them their name, a Fuzzbuster’s sole role in politics is sticking it to the Man. The Man, of course, is the money-backed, power-mad amalgam of "Republicrats" and "Demoblicans" that has plagued politics ever since the death of the Whigs. It’s gotten worse of late, as the corrosive pigswill of dynastic politics has muddied the political waters even further. Fuzzbusters represent a wider spectrum of voices, which is precisely why the Man usually calls them “the lunatic fringe.” To be fair, a lot of Fuzzbusters are indeed lunatics. But I’ll let you make the call as to who fits that bill on a list of names that includes everyone from Pat Buchanan to Ralph Nadar, Ross Perot to William Jennings Bryan, George Wallace to Eugene V. Debs.

And this year, there’s lefty-loosey Dennis Kucinich and righty-tighty Ron Paul, each looking to become the Fuzzbustinest Commander in Chief in ages. If Obama and Huckabee are the Preachermen of established religion, these two are the cult leaders. Both of them are men of ideas and conviction. And both of them would be written off as slobbering madmen if your only source of information is the TV news. Still, their crowd of supporters sees them as soothsayers, wise men to follow to the ends of the earth if need be. They might very well have to, because neither of them will ever be the President of this U.S. of A.

A Fuzzbuster has captured this country’s top job only once, and then only by the accident of an assassin’s bullet. Both Democrats and Republicans were shocked when Theodore Roosevelt grabbed the reigns. And his “Square Deal” was fair and square for everybody save big business suits and their political pocket men. TR was massively popular with the workaday stiffs, the daybreak-to-back break types who fueled the nation’s booming economy but took home less than one red cent per dollar of the fortunes they created. So in nineteen aught four, despite the best efforts of the swindlers and their swine-hearted politico pals, Roosevelt won by a landslide, and he used his mandate to further clean the house.

But by 1912, corrupt businessmen and corrupt pols alike had a whole administration-length to lick their wounds. And when big Teddy ran as a Bull Moose that year, he got beaten by the last of the racist, old-world Democrats. From that point forward, there has always been enough money and power to stop a Fuzzbuster before they ever truly get started.

So, as I said before, here we are again...back in the same bloody boat and floating ever closer to the Underworld. And again, there’s a pair of Fuzzbusters ready to take your vote should you choose to give it. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. It's normal to want a few new ideas to be injected into the national dialogue, and a vote is a clear indication of support. But voting for a Fuzzbuster is like burning your ballot in protest. Because, precisely like those radar-detectors that gave them their name, the Fuzzbusters cost a lot (in time and money) and they just don’t work. In the post-TR world, they speak loudly and they carry a very small stick. If you’re looking for a hero, brush up on your mythology…or buy a comic book. Because this ship has long since sailed.

My advice: Vote Spiderman

Monday, January 28, 2008

PICK-A-POL (part 4)

THE PREACHERMAN™
"The day is coming, my brothers and sisters, when a man will return from heavens and lead his people to the Promised Land" ("Amen!")

"He will bring peace to the masses" ("Amen!")
"give shelter to the homeless" ("Amen!")
"He will heal the sickness and the suffering" ("Amen!")

"And best of all, my brothers and sisters…he will deliver us from pork barrel spending and give us this day our lower taxes!" ("Wait a minute. Are we talking about the same guy?")

Hope, redemption, change, the end of the morally corrupt world of present. Such is the domain of the Preacherman. They sound a lot like those holy men from the past; the ones who used their religion to change their world. But if you listen closely, my brothers and sisters, you’ll notice that Preacherman pols are less concerned with Kingdom Come than they are with Fiefdom Now.

In Washington, politics is religion. But, historically speaking, the reverse is also true. The Church was the world’s first tax-supported government - offering leadership, community, a contract of moral obligations, and at least ten civil laws in exchange for an annual tithe. Continuing on down the road a couple of thousand years, religiously themed rhetoric still packs a political punch. By now, it’s in the Blood.

But not just any politician can be anointed a Preacherman. One must have a certain charisma, above-average oratory skill, and the ability to guild their politics in spiritual gold. But, there’s a loophole…an indulgence if you will. Those who lack these attributes can still be considered Preachermen simply by wielding the Bible like a blunt instrument. Pat Robertson and the sitting President flash to mind.

The so-called separation of Church and State would seemingly preclude a Preacherman from holding political office. But remember, religion is politics as surely as politics is religion. And a few Preachermen always seem to capture the imagination of the spiritually famished American people. When preaching to the choir, they invigorate hope and spark dreams of a nation reborn. When preaching to the unconverted, they inspire what can only be described as a religious sense of dread. They are divisive figures, and for that reason Preachermen don’t often ascend to the Presidency. In the rare historical instances of a Preacherman President, a legacy of legendary proportions is assured. Whether the legacy is for good (Lincoln) or for ill (W.) depends mostly on the political religion of the man himself.

If you find yourself looking for a little of that old time religion this year, there’s a pair of Preachermen to choose from. The charismatically fresh-faced Barack Obama, who promises life after the recent death of the American dream. Or there's the revamped, polite version of the Christian cudgel - Rev. Mike Huckabee - who promises government by the Book (his interpretation, of course). Of the two, Obama is the only one with a prayer of getting the nomination. But the general election is another ball of wax, and never in the course of American history has one Preacherman President succeeded another. Still, one could argue that the only true antidote for a poisonous Preacherman like Bush is a promising Preacherman like Obama...or perhaps the apocalypse.

My advice: MATTHEW 7:15

Friday, January 25, 2008

PICK-A-POL (part 3)

THE HAIRDO™

This breed lives by the motto “if you can’t be it, look it.” A Hairdo is much more than carefully coiffed locks; it’s a state of mind. Generally speaking, the more sculpted and plasticine the tresses, the more sculpted and plasticine the policy.

Hairdos rarely reside in the Oval Office, but they turn up frequently as second banana to a Suit (see Pick-a-Pol part 2)…some historical examples can be found in Spiro Agnew, Dan Quayle, James Schoolcraft Sherman, and Walter Mondale. The only logical explanation for this is that, much like children, Hairdos are better seen than heard. The connection to children is made all the more apparent since Hairdos are often renowned baby-kissers.

A rare historical example of a Hairdo President is found in Martin Van Buren, that well-coifed dandy who, by all accounts, was more interested in his appearance than he was in working for the American people. Cases in point, the Panic of 1837 and the Trail of Tears, both of which reportedly took place while MVB sat snuggly in the barber's chair.

The American people, while notoriously gullible, are usually able to see through the Brylcreem and the blow-drying well before they step up to ink-a-vote a Hairdo into the Presidency. Still, examples of this most vainglorious of pols can be found in the Gubenatorial mansions of many states and the Mayor’s offices of most US cities.

This year, there's a couple of Hairdos vying for the nation’s top job. There’s the haloed, clean-as-a-whistle fluff fantasia of perennial schoolboy John Edwards. And there’s the rock hard, crispy-fried, pomaded and Pennzoiled helmet hair of the man from Massachusetts, Mitt Romney. Neither of them have a prayer of being elected, but isn’t it funny how much easier it is to say “President Mitt Romney” or “President John Edwards” when prefaced by the word “Vice?” That, my friends, is what’s become known in American Politics as the “Grecian-Formula Phenomenon.”

My advice: TIME FOR A TRIM.

PICK-A-POL (part 2)

THE SUIT™

If you think of politics like a business, these are the CEOs. The Suits are professional politicians, the white-shoe wheeler-dealers who treat the halls of power like a corporate boardroom. They may seem like their own bosses, but like all CEOs, they answer first and foremost to their shareholders (in this case, lobbyists).

From the first historical example in 1877, more Suits have become President than all the Hairdos, Preachermen, and Fuzzbusters combined. There’s a good explanation for this. The business world rewards entrepreneurs who create jobs for people and wealth for shareholders. Since there’s a shitload of cash to be made in politics, the Suits keep the pork barrel rolling in exchange for their well-appointed corner office and that grand mahogany desk.

For that reason, there will never be a shortage of Suits in Presidential politics. No matter your party affiliation, you’ll have one on your primary ballot. This year, slip into the fine tailoring and quilted collars of Senator Hillary Clinton or the rumpled “working man in his Sunday best” stylelessness of Senator John McCain. Each brings with them a corporate infrastructure of yes men, ad men, loyalists and lobbyists…all with a common goal as quoted from famous historical Suit Calvin Coolidge - “The business of America is business.” For the Suit, “business” is politics. So it should be no surprise that Clinton’s new campaign song is the BTO classic “Taking Care or Business.” Sing it with me, now:

taking care of business, everyday…
taking care of business, every way…
taking care of business, it’s all mine…
taking care of business, and working overtime…

Indeed. Politics, per usual. Because of this, Suits are rarely effective leaders. They often aid and abet thieves (think Warren G. Harding), while some are dictatorial criminals themselves (think Richard M. Nixon). Some are simply bumbling incompetents (think Herbert Hoover, Gerald Ford), and some are merely competent (that’s you, Bill). In rare occasions, a powerful lobby with a just cause can pressure a Suit into supporting positive legislation (as MLK, Jr. did with LBJ). Many talk a great game, but when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, Suits are there to serve themselves, their shareholders, and a scant few greedheads and power-brokers in the top-tier of American society.

My advice: BUYER BEWARE.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

FAREWELL LONESOME TRAVELLER


Life on the Range has claimed one more casualty. He was young, handsome, and by all accounts promising. His name was Heathcliff Andrew Ledger. He was an actor by trade and Australian by birth. To most of us, it would seem he had the world at his feet. But like many in his condition, the weight of that world rested not beneath his feet, but squarely upon his shoulders.

In the minutes and hours that followed the first reports of his death, there was a lotta talk. People gossiping about what happened…was it suicide? An accident? Many were saddened (“He was only 28”), most shocked (“Drugs?”), and more than one muttered callous horseshit (“I hear Playgirl has a memorial spread in the works”). The story is already a media event…and will remain so until our insatiable need for squalid details can be powershifted into some other "hot" topic.

But we’ve still got a long way to go before that can be allowed to happen. We need to know a minute-by-minute account of his last few days on earth and the precise toxicity of his bloodstream. We need to see fans leaving flowers at his apartment door, his ex-girlfriend publicly weeping, and his daughter, dressed in black at daddy’s funeral. We need to hear testimony from friends and acquaintances about his collapsing mental state and his increasing substance-abuse problem. We need to see photos to document his decline, and re-hear carefully edited interview excerpts that sound at present like haunting cries for help. And we need to point the finger at somebody or something – his “heartless” ex-girlfriend, that “soulless” Hollywood machine, the “selfish” actor himself. There will be a scapegoat; someone must take the blame for this tragedy.

And what will remain at the end of this dark trail? Just a face...some flickering images...and one more name on a long, lonesome list.

I must admit that I don’t get to the picture shows very often, so I am unfamiliar with his work as an actor. But I am familiar with his struggle as a man. And the older I get, the more difficult it is to see anything noble in the “Nick Romano Legacy” of living fast, dying young, and leaving a good-looking corpse. The cruel and bitter truth is that Ledger’s last lonely days are echoed throughout modern history…testament to nothing but the senselessness and meaninglessness of fame, fortune, and that most-coveted of designations - celebrity.

All of which is not to say that his life was meaningless. There is no way to measure the chasm his absence will affect in the lives of those who knew and loved him. If my hunch is true, he was a sick man well before he found fame. Like so many restless souls, he felt that celebrity would cure his ills. And when it didn’t, he looked elsewhere to find relief. His decisions will be debated and judged ceaselessly in the media. But it is unfair to judge a sick man simply because he prescribed to the wrong medication.

So here we are again, with another good-looking corpse to mourn, the remnants of a life lived fast, not fully. There is little left for us to do but ponder what could have been, what never will be, and respectfully bid farewell.

In one of his final roles, he portrayed one facet of Bob Dylan’s persona. As such, I found it fitting to crib a few lines from the Bard to sing this sad young man to sleep…

I don't like it in the wind,
I’ma go back home again,
but I can't go home thisaway.
Thisaway, lord lord lord,
and I can't go home thisaway.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

PICK-A-POL (part 1)

Politics has always been a mirror image of society. A distorted funhouse mirror perhaps, but a mirror nonetheless. Just look at how the Presidents of the Manifest Destiny era evolved into the Presidents of America, the industrialized nation. Now, as life on the range slowly devolves into a massive conglomeration of strip malls, chain restaurants, and discount stores, politicians seeking election package themselves as user-friendly, easily identifiable brands. So next time you’re down at Wal-Mart shopping for a President, you may choose from one of these trusted varieties (each available in convenient Left-leaning or Right-leaning models to suit your personal taste):

The Suit (TM)

The Hairdo (TM)

The Preacherman (TM)

The Fuzzbuster (TM)



In the coming days, I'll write more about each individual brand in an effort to give you, the consumer, all the product details you'll need to know before you spend your vote.

Let Freedumb Ring!

The Rifleman

EUPHEMISM OF THE WEEK:

SLOWDOWN

This new buzzword is bouncing around all over the place. You'll hear it every time the powers that be describe the current economic state in America. In the next few weeks, expect "slowdown" to escape the lips of every politician on the campaign stump, any representative of the U.S. Federal Reserve, and even those “reporters” on the evening news.
Definition: Recession. See also Great Panic and Black Tuesday.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

DON'T BELIEVE THE RUMORS...



The man in this photo is NOT ME.

OBAMA-NATION?

Can the most exciting Presidential candidate in decades survive the name game and the great American gut check?

What’s in a name? It’s a question soon to be on every American’s mind. If Senator Barack Obama becomes the Democratic nominee for President, the Republican machine (and a fair number of Dixiecrats) will make sure “the liberal media” pumps their concern into the collective consciousness like Bovine Growth Hormone into a dairy cow’s ass.

The issue – that "this glorious WASP nation" of ours could potentially elect Barack Obama as their Commander in Chief. His name, you’ll notice if you say it aloud, is out of sorts with the warm, white bread sounds of pronouncing John Adams, Zack Taylor, Grover Cleveland, or the rest of the previous forty-three men who’ve held the position (save perhaps for Rutherford Hayes, who wasn’t much of a President but could have been an top-selling soul singer had he a better manager).

Barack Obama is, paradoxically, the dream candidate for both parties. He represents the best in Democratic ideals and the worst in Republican xenophobia. Most Democrats (the long-stigmatized party of dreamers) embrace Obama’s ideas, common sense, and a hope for the future expressed with his trademark charm and charisma. But a man whose surname rhymes with Osama, with Hussein his middle name, is the kind of Democratic candidate that makes Young Republicans stain their sheets. For the Right-Wing slander jocks, it could hardly be easier. Type the word “Obama” in Microsoft Word and let spell check make the connection for you. The man’s very name is synonymous with the “War on Terror, ” though I’ll argue that most Americans’ objections to it will have less to do with the heretofore short-lived “War on Terror” than this country’s congenital War on Color.

If Obama’s “Christian name” were George W. Bush, George W. Carver, Alan Keyes, or even Montel Williams, the name game would be a helluva lot tougher to play. But the name Barack Obama is what it is. And in a society where racism is still quietly accepted while outwardly frowned upon, we will not judge a man by the color of his skin or by the content of his character. Instead, we’ll judge the name his mother gave him, and that oughta be close enough to the way things used to be to keep this country’s top job comfortably pale faced for at least another decade or two.

In this so-called “change” election, Obama’s candidacy will inevitably force us to address the malignant tumor of racism that still festers below America’s lily-white skin. Other than a few unfortunate exchanges with Hillary Clinton in the past week, the Obama team has done an admirable job of de-emphasizing race in his campaign. This is the proper tack. After all, if he doesn’t make an issue of it, how can anyone else? The fact remains, if Obama becomes the Democratic nominee, he will represent a change not only of policy but also of presence. The message to America (and, if he wins the election, the entire world) is that the country now is no longer the country of our forefathers. But not everybody will breathe a sigh of relief at hearing that message. Let’s talk turkey…America wants change, but maybe not that much change.

If the sound of “President Obama” makes you queasy, you can rest assured that there will be an old white guy on the Republican ticket awaiting your vote. The best part is that he’ll be talking the change-talk too, so you can pat your “progressive” self on the back even as you sell your country down the river. If you’re truly looking for change, you cannot find it in the Republican Party. Mitt Romney has the change capital of a wooden nickel and John McCain’s ideas are about as fresh as a Mercury dime. Both men certainly look more like the Presidents we’ve had in the past, and McCain has the name game advantage of sounding like he could have been elected in any era after the Draft Riots. But let’s say for the sake of argument that it ends up being Obama vs. Romney in the general. Will America really choose a man named Mitt over a man named Barack simply because Mitt sounds whiter? I wish I knew the answer, but only time will tell.

It’s hard to believe that a candidate with the talent and potential of Senator Obama could possibly be reduced to defending his name against a wave of pundits, pols, and proselytizers. But this is politics - a corrupt, immoral, and juvenile profession that most resembles the social structure of high school. Name-calling, arm-twisting, and bullying are rules rather than the exception. What is truly exceptional is that the name game hasn’t been played on a larger scale already.

My advice to the Obama campaign, castrate all attackers with the same dismissive tone you effectively used early on to combat the race question. Refuse to allow the name game a central role in this all-important Presidential election. Because if you choose to play, you only stand to lose.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

For my first post here, I'll ask that you all ponder the photo in the title box. It's of the sun, setting in America.