The Cover

So the New Yorker printed a cover of Barack Obama, and it was a stupid one. There's been a huge uproar about it, and for various reasons. Here's one take from Obama's staff:

The New Yorker may think, as one of their staff explained to us, that their cover is a satirical lampoon of the caricature Senator Obama's right-wing critics have tried to create. But most readers will see it as tasteless and offensive. And we agree.

I guess I'm not most readers. I don't see this as tasteless or offensive. I see it as stupid. But seriously--I'm as avid a supporter of Obama as there is, but this really isn't a comment on anything but the good sense of the New Yorker.

Here's the likely reaction of the Obama supporter: The New Yorker is being mean! I'll stop reading it.

And the McCain Supporter: I knew he was a Mohammedan! To war!

And the Clinton supporter: Okay, we used some slimy tactics. Why didn't ours get in the New Yorker?

I suppose there are people stupid enough to accept the cover for what it says, but let's face it: they were either conservative or New Yorker employees to begin with. Not exactly Mensa material here.

The Hand of Oberon by Roger Zelazny

The further I get into this series the better it gets. At this point it's clear to me that the five books trace a single story arc, rather than each book having its own. If these were published now they'd be a single volume with the heft of a Robert Jordan epic.

The action is picking up, the intrigue is great, and all the complexity that Zelazny has put in place over four novels now comes to a head--just like you'd expect at the climax of a single novel. I really like the story, but now I'm met with a roadblock. I don't have the fifth installment--I have the sixth.

Oh, and I saw the Ganelon thing coming on two hundred pages ago.

New Video of the Moment

The latest addition to "Video of the Moment" is an odd choice. The band is named A.S.A.P., which stands for Adrian Smith and Project. The Adrian Smith in question had, to that point, been the lead guitarist of Iron Maiden (sing along with me, Dave . . . "Ruuun toooo the hiiiiiillls. Ruun fooor your liiiiiives). Then he did this solo album of sorts, and I figured it was worth a listen.

I'd expected some watered-down Maidenish fluff, but it turns out the album was completely different. More mainstream rock, but with an edge, and with a lot of grit--and, as it turns out, Smith is a pretty good vocalist. I liked it a lot. I almost wore out my cassette (yes, I'm that old--this was 1989). And when it occurred to me to look for it on YouTube I giggled. Out loud.

And then I found it. And here it is: "Fallen Heroes".

I really like this.

For the Guys at EotAW

My PS skillz are terrible, but so is the image I conjured. So here's the product:

I'm terribly sorry, but I won't pay for therapy. If I could, do you think I'd have done this in the first place?

I'm Not Alone!

In the comments of my post about the presidents of my lifetime, Dave and I had a quick exchange about the relative merits of Ronald Reagan. I was the last to post (because I can't shut up), and I insisted that Jimmy Carter was a better president than Teflon Ron because Reagan was eeeeeeevil. Today in the Washington Post, Richard Cohen has a column discussing one aspect of why I think those things. Here's an exerpt:

This is the doleful legacy of Reaganism. We have become a nation that believes that you can get something for nothing. We thought that the energy crisis would be solved . . . somehow, and that no one would have to suffer. We still believe in the magical qualities of America, that something about us makes us better. Yet we have a chaotic and mediocre education system that desperately needs more money and higher standards, but we think -- don't we? -- that somehow we will maintain our lifestyle anyway. Hey, is this America or what?

That paragraph is more an indictment of fiscally-conservative, laissez faire economic policy than it is specifically of Reagan, but Reagan has become the icon of that sort of flawed thinking. And that's not to say that this is all true because I think so and Richard Cohen apparently agrees with me, and it certainly doesn't mean that Dave is deluded on the subject of presidential merit (the "discussion" was more like neighbors exchanging hellos from their respective cars while paused at a traffic light than a real exploration of ideas), but I still think Carter was better than Reagan.

But I could be wrong.

Two Books

Land of Amber Waters by Doug Hoverson

This is the book Michele got me for our anniversary. It's more than just a book about beer and brewing--it's really the story of how and under what conditions Minnesota became what it is. It tracks immigration patterns, ethnic influences, and government policy from the 1840s to the present, and the discussion of how our culture has regarded beer, and alcohol in general, over the last 170 years. It's a fascinating read, and there are lots of pictures. I'd recommend it to anyone curious about Minnesota history.

Juneteeth by Ralph Ellison

This is the novel Ellison never finished to his satisfaction. His widow arranged for its publication after his death in 1994, and it was handled well. And there's merit to its publication. Ellison's talent with language is undeniable here, and he's dealing with weighty ideas in an interesting way. But the end of the story is pretty ragged, and the several elements of the narrative aren't fused all that well.

Happy Fourth of July

While I find it hard to get sentimental about random dates that may or may not really represent anything, I don't mind taking a few moments to acknowledge that, flawed as it is, the country I live in is the most successful experiment in democratic government thus far.

I did my bit in the military:



I fixed these things: And, in general, kept Key West safe from Saddam Hussein and excess rum. Now I'll do my part by wearing a festive shirt and watching fake rockets blow up in the Norman sky. And eat food.

And I'll celebrate the death of one of America's most evil products ever: Jesse Helms. For your listening pleasure, here's MC Stephen Hawking's song "Why Won't Jesse Helms Just Hurry Up And Die?" He can't "take that punk bitch Strom Thurmond with" him, because Thurmond's been feeding worms for five years already.

Yep--today America's a better place.

Meet Your Oklahoma City SuperSonics

It was announced that the city of Seattle made a deal with Clay Bennett, owner of the Sonics, so he could move the team to Oklahoma City. You'd think I'd welcome that, since the NBA is the only sports entity that even interests me a little, but I don't.

You see, I grew up a Minnesota sports fan. I was a North Stars fan when Norm Green stole the team away. I was a Twins fan through every bout of extortion, when the team's owners--whoever they were at the time--demanded a new stadium or they'd leave. I was there when the Vikings and the Timberwolves did the same thing. This is one of the primary reasons I don't pay much attention to sports anymore. The billionaire owners constantly hold cities hostage for updated facilities, threatening to take the team elsewhere if their demands aren't met.

Now Clay Bennett did it to Seattle. They wouldn't build him a new arena so he's bringing the Sonics here, uprooting forty-one years of basketball history and separating the team from the fans who have a real attachment, a real emotional investment, in it. They're not just wallets seeking a business opportunity--they're people who've formed a real bond with their local sports team.

So even though I'd like to watch pro basketball in person, I won't give Clay Bennett or his soulless partners a penny. I'd like to see Kevin Garnett come to town, but I won't support an organization that would stoop to these tactics.

I'll drive to Dallas and watch the Celtics play the Mavericks if I have to.

I've never been to Seattle, and I don't think I know anyone there. But I know how much this eats at them. Clay Bennett is garbage. He won't get my business.

UPDATE: I've just learned that Mark Cuban, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, was one of two owners to vote against the Seattle Robbery. I've always liked Cuban, because he's intelligent, articulate, passionate, and insane. Now I really like him. We might need to plan several trips to Dallas. I'm sure Michele will go along.

Hiding M&Ms in a Lamb

This video cracked me up. I like the song a lot, but this interpretation is pretty funny (with a couple of lame exceptions--"time" misheard as "thyme," etc.).

Here's the funniness:


And here are the real lyrics.

I can't stop chuckling.

Since I Was Born

I'm not terribly old, no matter what my ankles say every morning. I should have at least a little more life than I've passed already. But I've seen some shitty presidents in my time. In fact, my political personality seems to have been constructed in opposition to what I've seen.

When I was born, Richard Nixon was president. Enough said.

The next president was his accidental Veep, Gerald Ford. Good criminy--I've been alive for six years, and I'm still stuck with Republicans? This sucks.

Finally we get a decent human being in the White House in 1976, a Democrat named Jimmy Carter. Unfortunately, he's so tied down by conservative mismanagement he can't get anything done. Fortunately for conservatives, Ronald Reagan is making illegal deals with all kinds of people, like terrorists in Iran, to win the election in 1980.

In 1980 Reagan wins. I didn't even understand what was happening, but I somehow knew this was bad. Turns out Reagan spends eight years tripling the federal deficit while encouraging people to be greedy. Holy crap. Eight years of disaster.

In 1988 I get to vote for the first time. That means the guy I didn't vote for--George H.W. Bush--wins the election. Great. The Reagan years are extended without the Reagan personality, which means the presidency is both empty and bland.

My absentee ballot never showed up in 1992, but I was happy to see Bill Clinton elected president that year. Too bad the Republicans went into roadblock mode in 1994. And too bad Slick Willy couldn't keep his pants on. He was the best president of my lifetime so far and his tenure is sullied by silly shit.

And the conservatives were so outraged that in 2000 George W. Bush, the least qualified human being possible, took office at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. He didn't win, but he became the first Presidunce.

And in 2004 a bunch of halfwits and victims of hypnotism voted for Dubya, and he won again.

Good criminy I hope in 2008 we can do better. I hope we can elect someone with some sense, some semblance of ability. I hope we can get past the ridiculous lies.

Really there is only one choice. Obama.

McCain is an idiot. I'll write more about that soon. But for now, I have to say this: we need to reject the culture of greed promulgated by Reaganomics, we need to stop the deception perfected by the Nixon administration, we need to reject the lame-ass policies of the Ford and Bush administrations. In short, we need to reject the conservatism of the last forty years because it is ineffective, unrealistic, and divisive.

I don't think John McCain is a bad man. I just think he'd be a terrible choice for president.

Some Updates

It's been busy around here for the past couple of weeks, and I've tried to post a few times on a few topics, but I haven't had the ambition, really. Here are some random thoughts:

• I was putting together a long post about George Carlin, and it was too maudlin and it was boring me. Suffice it to say, the two pop-culture entities that most influenced me when I was a teenager were Monty Python and George Carlin. The Pythons gave me a model for embracing absurdity and Carlin exposed my lifelong alienation as natural in a culture as ridiculous as this one, and expressed exactly what I was feeling in ways that helped me accept it.
• I had another job interview on Friday. It came up suddenly, and I had to prepare a teaching presentation in a shorter time than I'd have liked. The interview went well, though, so now it's back to waiting.
• Michele and I celebrated our second anniversary last Tuesday. Michele wrote about it here. We went to a restaurant in OKC and I got this amazing filet of tilapia, and had a glass of a really good pinot gris. Then we went home and watched The Spiderwick Chronicles. Talk about a wild celebration. Sly called in the middle of dinner, so I said I'd call him back. I haven't called yet, though. I owe him a call.
• Michele's brother and his family stopped by unexpectedly on Monday. Their three kids are like a tornado, so it seems like we don't get to visit as much as our time together would suggest, but it was good to see them.
• I have a lot of thoughts about the NBA draft, and maybe I'll write a post about that soon, but for now I'll just say that I'm of two minds. I think what the Timberwolves needed was a solid seven-footer to start at the five so Jefferson could be more effective at power forward, and the only asset they got in that regard was Jason Collins, in the trade with Memphis. On the other hand, I like what Kevin Love brings to the team, and Mike Miller should be a solid asset. Eh. Not a bad draft, but nothing to be too excited about.
• Since we've lived in Norman we've met a lot of people who brew their own beer. I think the funky Oklahoma blue laws have created a fixation among some people here. For our anniversary Michele bought me a book about the history of brewing in Minnesota. The book is fascinating, and because of that my reading of Ellison's Juneteenth has slowed to a crawl.
• It's hot here, and it's getting hotter.

That's about all I have to say right now. Maybe soon I can be more entertaining and/or interesting. Right now I just feel worn out.

Pluggin' Like the Little Dutch Boy

My friend Diana is going to have her book published next January. I got to read an early copy of the manuscript, and it's funny as hell. Plus, Diana's a sweetheart, and she makes a wicked batch of cheesecake thingies.

Check out her book's blog. It costs you nothing and could help the site get enough exposure for mysterious benefits to accrue to her.

I'll be posting some interesting things soon. Honest.

Aw, hell.

Comedian George Carlin Dies in Los Angeles at 71

More later. If I can bear it.

Adventures With Food

It's a new record: for just over ten months I've been on a pescetarian diet, and with a few exceptions I've stuck to it. In fact, there have been four times in the past ten months that I've eaten land-based meat: the accidental meatball (mentioned in the comments here, my Olive Garden memory lapse*, the surprise potatoes**, and last Thanksgiving (which was the only one of these that was premeditated). I've never been able to do this for more than a couple days before, and I think that my success this time is due to taking it in small steps. Allowing myself fish and seafood has made the transition easier.

Another thing that's made this easier is Asian food. We've improvised a lot of our meals, altered them from the way we've eaten our whole lives: spaghetti with no meat, chili with a lot of beans, grilled veggie sandwiches. More helpful, though, has been our increasing reliance on East Asian and South Asian food, especially Indian.

Some time ago Anskov suggested a cookbook written by his friend Suvir Saran. I used some of my birthday money to pick up a copy last week, because when we looked through it in the store we liked the recipes and it seemed like something even I could use (read: simple).
Last night I made the Simple Lentil Dal with Cumin and Dried Red Chiles*** on page 27. It turned out pretty well, even though I'm a three-assed monkey in the kitchen, and even though I did some things that endangered the project's success.

First of all, I didn't include the chilies because a) Michele can't eat really spicy stuff and I wanted to start safe, and b) we didn't see any dried red chilies in any of the stores we were in yesterday. Also, I used ancho pepper instead of cayenne due to a miscommunication Michele and I had a few weeks ago. As a result, the dish was much blander than Mr. Saran must have intended. It was still good, though, and as soon as I stop sabotoging the recipe I'm sure it will turn out better.

The second problem I had derives from my multi-ass monkitude. I burned the tarka before mixing it in, so I'm sure that threw the flavor off. Char instead of spice, and all that. In my defense, there's very little time to think when the tarka is cooking, so it's easy for a three-assed monkey to mess it up.

It's good that I'm figuring this out now, because in two months it will have been a year since I gave up land meat. On that anniversary I plan to go full vegetarian. If my actions can match my convictions as well this time around, that is.

* I ordered the potato soup with my meal, forgetting it has sausage in it. I ate it anyway, because I didn't want it to go to waste, and I didn't want to hassle the waitress for my screw-up.

** For Michele's birthday we went to a German restaurant that had almost no veggie options. I got mushroom soup and an order of home fries. The soup was great and the potatoes were phenomenal--and included bacon crumbles. I didn't realize until three bites in, and again didn't want to waste it.

*** I know that's spelled wrong, but that's the way it is in the book. I know he doesn't want me to mix in South American countries.

Like I Needed More Distractions

I was flopping around the innertubes earlier and I came across the MySpace page for Rapscallion, a band I hadn't listened to in a long time. I first got into them because they were a) on Metal Blade, b) produced by a Minneapolis company, and c) their album (Chameleon Drool) had a lot of superficial similarities to Saigon Kick's album The Lizard, which we were listening to a lot. And by "superficial" I mean that they were named for reptiles and had similar cover art. Take a look:

Anyway, on Rapscallion's site they mention they also post on garageband.com, which reminded me that I used to go to that site fairly often for unknown music. So I went there. And I got sucked in again.

I love new things.

One act that really got me was Warren Pece, an alternative rock/rap guy. Yes, I'm goofy and I like almost every kind of music at least a little. This guy sounds like Atmosphere mixed with Queens of the Stone Age. Pretty good stuff. Especially check out his song "Attention, Whores." Damn, that's a catchy song.

Oh, Yeah.

There's another birthday to make note of.

I'll say no more. I meant the birthday/Father's Day gift to be a new name on this blog, but I haven't thought of anything suitable yet. I thought of several things, but nothing was funny enough.

The Canadians Are Coming -- More Videos

Sure, Canada has produced abominations like Celine Dion, Alanis Morisette, and Shania Twain. But they've also given us Rush and Triumph. And some middle-of-the-road artists like Sebastian Bach*, Bryan Adams, and Barenaked Ladies, who are hard to revile but haven't produced more than a decent song or two. I mean look at Bryan Adams. He had a couple of hits in the eighties with some passable pop songs and then completely shit the bed with everything starting with his contributions to the soundtrack to the Kevin Costner Robin Hood Parody.

Here are some Canucks who flew under the radar.

Killer Dwarfs - We Stand Alone
These guys are goofy, but it works.

Exciter - Violence and Force
Part of the thrash explosion of 1983, but never got any attention. Because they were from the land of the ice and snow. Eh.

Anvil - Metal on Metal
Apparently whoever posted this video couldn't find a clip that was performed in English. Even though the audio is in English, the band is clearly singing in Canadian, and that's why it's not synched up.

Annihilator - Syn. Kill 1
Much like Exciter, these guys had the chops but never got much publicity. Of the four bands this is the only one that's still going (as opposed to reunited). I think Jeff Waters kills and eats his band members after every tour, though.

*UPDATE: Dave rightfully pointed out that Jewel is, in fact, American, and therefore had to be replaced. So I had to find a different not-so-offensive artist from Canada. In reality, I like a lot of what Bach did with Skid Row (their Slave to the Grind album kicked serious ass), but then he did Gilmore Girls, so he gets demoted. That show sucked like Roseanne singing the national anthem sucked.

Holy Outrage, Batman!

Faux News done gone and fired John Scalzi up.

I am now linking to Mr. Scalzi on my sidebar, because I like the cut of his jib.

More seriously--this is just another piece of evidence that the conservative element of our culture, the element that yaps constantly about values and morals, is as full of scabrous reptiles as any other group.

...And Then a Hedgehog Shat on My Hand.

It's been an interesting summer so far. For one thing, I think I can finally talk about Other Things. For another thing, even though it's an interesting summer there isn't a whole lot to say about it.

The Other Things to which I kept alluding were potential jobs. OCCC posted three jobs I felt at least minimally qualified for, and I applied to all three. The possibility of my becoming the Communications Lab Supervisor ended pretty quickly, as I wasn't even called for a first interview. That job eventually went to a friend, and she was clearly more qualified than I was, so there's no tension there. If I were on the hiring committee I'd have hired her, too. Though that would be awkward, being on the hiring committee for a job I was trying to get. I'll stop thinking about that now. It's silly.

The second job opening was for a Professor of English Composition. The twist was that it was for a new program of classes for ESL students. No problem. I've had ESL students in every section of Comp I've ever taught. They have different issues than native speakers do, but their problems aren't impossible to overcome. I made it through a third interview for this one, but didn't get the job.

The third position I applied for was the one I really wanted--Professor of English. It involved teaching some Comp, some Humanities, some Literature, and some Philosophy. Perfect. If I were to write up a job description that would fit me, this would be my design. I felt like I had a lot of advantages in my favor: I was the only adjunct (that I was aware of) who had taught a philosophy class for them, I have a good rapport with the full-time faculty and my supervisors there, and I understand they like to hire people from other places. I even used my mentor at OCCC (I'll call him "Martin" here) as a reference.

It wasn't to be. All of my advantages were real advantages, and I interviewed well. I met with the hiring committee, then the Dean of the Arts and Humanities division, and finally with the President and Vice President of Academic Affairs. All of those meetings were good ones. I answered all of their questions, my presentations went well, and the interviewers even laughed at my jokes. The only way I wasn't getting this job was if someone more qualified was interviewing as well.

The problem was that someone more qualified was interviewing as well. Martin. My mentor.

He's been full-time faculty there for eight years or so. He's just shy of having his doctorate in Philosophy. He's also one of the nicest people I have ever met. Every advantage I had he had even more of. When I learned he was interviewing (five minutes before my first interview) I figured my chances were slim. About the only way I'd get the job is if the division didn't want to deal with replacing Martin too after this process. Turns out they just decided to hire the best candidate. Go figure.

On the bright side, now his position is posted. I'm submitting my application today.

Also, we're hedgehogsitting for a family who we've really barely met. They seem like nice people, and "Hedgie" (the animal was named by young boys) won't be a burden to keep. He's quiet, doesn't eat much, and takes up little space. But right after they dropped him off and left, while I was still letting him run from one hand to the other and back again, he pinched a loaf all over me.

It smelled like cereal.

A Little Preoccupied

About a month ago I had a birthday. I got older. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed--I turned 38 this year. That's not a good number, but it beats stopping at 37.

Anyway, I got a number of gifts (even though I tell everyone not to buy me anything), from gift cards to cash to clothes to mysterious packages in the mail. Jam and Brigadoon gave me season one of Jericho on DVD.

I keep meaning to call them and thank them for the gift, but there's a problem.

I'm too busy watching fricking Jericho to call.

I'll get to that in about ten more episodes. But thanks.