NOTES FROM SRI LANKA.
(November '02)
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11/3/02
Hey-yah!
Glad you could make it. Always good to know that friends are checking in and seeing how we're doing...especially in times like these, when you never know what's going to happen or who's going to be hauled away next. Good to know there's someone out there making sure we're still kicking. (You are...there...aren't you? Hello? HEL-LO?)
There's
been a fair amount of activity around the old Cheney Hammer Mill over the past
week, as each of us makes an effort to tackle the various obstacles that have
been thrown in our path just recently. Lucky for me, my Podiatrist put in a
solid afternoon's work this past Monday on my cee-ment foot. (She's
sanded it down to the shape of a running shoe, and I've painted it black to
match the running shoe on my other foot.) This has enabled me 
to
work on paying off some of our tour-related debts before they go to collection.
How, you may ask? Myriad ways, my friend. There is no dearth of innovative
thinking here in Big Green land, nope.
Nooo-sir. (ahem...)
Okay -- so what do we have planned besides the resurrection of our discarded vegetable stand (i.e. -- collecting vegetables that have fallen off of passing produce trucks and selling them at our roadside stand)? Well...here's an idea. Marvin can rent himself out for odd jobs. You know, like carving tofu or taming electricity -- stuff people don't want to do for themselves. (One time he trained some electricity to make succotash. We sold it at the veggie stand.) He's prompt and personable, and only about 73% of what he does is completely wrong (based on his own statistics), so he should have no more trouble finding clients than the average brokerage firm. Even better, Marvin can take credit cards. (Though once he's "swiped" them, people tend not to want them back again...)
Actually,
sFshzenKlyrn had a pretty good money-raising
idea. It was something he used to do before he started his interstellar music
career. Essentially, he would pose for deep space photographs, altering his
shape to resemble whatever objects the astro-photographer was claiming to have
discovered. If it was a nebula or galaxy, he could pull down some serious 
cash
-- of course, it would required some follow-up work, particularly when the
authorities commission Hubble to confirm the "discovery." So yeah,
it's a little dishonest, but if sFshzenKlyrn
is willing to put his butt on the line for his friends, god bless him for being
a gentleman. (This scam works in pretty well with his
"Hubble-stumping" hobby. Business and pleasure...sweet!)
I have to hand it to John, though. He definitely came up with the overall winner -- a Big Green Telethon! How cool is that? We'll have a big tote board, lots of awkward looking people with 5-foot-long bank checks, and some of our best show business friends to help us along the way...big names like Mortadella, Tiny Montgomery, The Steels, and (of course) sFshzenKlyrn and family. Mitch Macaphee will do his renowned Jerry Lewis imitation -- the one that cracks them up every summer at the annual mad scientist retreat in Perth, Australia. And though it's somewhat beneath his dignity, Trevor James Constable has volunteered to run a "palm reading" booth using his patented orgone generating device. A little something for everyone.
Of
course, there are one or two hurdles. Acquiring network television time is one.
Then there are the crew, sound stage, props, and volunteer organization to pull
together. Not to mention the publicity costs, and the legal clearances that
always accompany public fundraising, so now we're talking attorney's fees, which
means more money up front....to say nothing of our complete and utter lack of
association with any cause worthy of our viewers' support, and.... Come to think
of it, it's a stupid idea! Hey John! Giddoverhere!
Seriously
-- I think the vegetable stand will probably be the thing to drag us out of this
mess. Then, of course, there are bootleg sales of our own EP -- Big
Green LIVE From Neptune
-- which is being snapped up by our fans on Zenon and Kaztropharius 137b
to the further enrichment of our corporate overlords at Hegemonic
Records & Worm Farm, Inc. We've been selling CD-R's out the back door of
the Cheney Hammer Mill. 
Naturally,
our label frowns on this, but fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. (And they
can't, so I say...fuck 'em.)
Want your copy? Click on the LIVE From Neptune icon, or click "Get CD" on the sidebar menu. Help bail us out, hey willya? Marvin can't do it alone.....
Some War. Okay, so Bin Laden blew up the World Trade Center and blew a hole in the Pentagon. Then we invaded Afghanistan to apprehend/kill him and his operatives, a mission later fudged to include ousting the Taliban when they, in fact, folded unexpectedly. Only we never did find Bin Laden or any truly senior al Qaida or Taliban -- we just managed to shoot up the place, kill bunches of people, and set up a patchwork Islamic regime administered by various warlords on the U.S. payroll. And now our intelligence services tell us we're just as vulnerable as we were before 9/11, essentially negating any administration claims that this stupid "war" is accomplishing anything (other than establishing their long-favored doctrine of massive military intervention applied at will in support of U.S. economic hegemony).
We
-- naturally -- are supposed to be so deep in the war trance as not to object to
extending this failed model of social engineering to other nations, starting
with Iraq. Dubya's counting on us to be stupid enough to keep issuing him the
same free pass over and over again -- this time without any even vague
justification for military action....which is in itself the point of the
exercise. By getting us used to so weak a standard for undeclared
"war," they make it that much easier on themselves the next time
around. We cannot allow them to set this precedent.
If you haven't yet signed one of the many anti-war petitions circulating the Internet, I encourage you to do so. Check out www.unitedforpeace.org and some of the links on that site. Write letters to the editor, to your Congresspeople, to the "president." Contact your city council member and ask them to table a resolution against the war. Join local demonstrations or national ones, if you're able. And if you're in a district that's contested, consider voting for the democrat, even if he or she is a witless fool. Denying one or both houses of Congress to the White House would at least marginally slow the juggernaut on war and other issues. It's not a good choice, but it will have to do until we get off our asses and organize...then the politicians of both major corporate parties can bloody well follow us.
One other thing. This week it was somewhat quietly reported that the single-bolt joins that held the twin towers together were responsible for their collapse. So by cutting costs on its construction, possibly thousands died in the WTC attack that might not have died otherwise. Who do we invade over this?
Rent-A-Rudy.
"America's Mayor" Rudy Giuliani is parlaying his dubious secular
sainthood status into a high-priced consultancy. One of his major clients is
Mexico City, where they're hoping he'll perform a little Giuliani
"magic" and, presumably, make the homeless disappear. That should make
for a city about half its size, while producing a few thousand Hispanic Amadou
Diallos and Patrick Dorismonds. Hey -- is being a tremendous prick a
prerequisite for sainthood...or does it just push you ahead in line a few
places?
luv u,
jp
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11/10/02
Goot mornink,
Oh...is that you? Mmm--okay. Sorry. I was asleep. The monsoons have descended on our little island nation and I've been spending much of my time in bed with the sheets pulled over my head. About time I drag myself out, anyway. (Aw...do I have to....?)
A
driving tropical rain is slapping against the crumbling walls of the Cheney
Hammer Mill complex where I and my Big Green
bandmates have taken refuge in a wicked and unrelenting world -- one that
demands prosperity when all we can offer is penury. We've battened down what
hatches remain on their hinges and have placed buckets in strategic locations
throughout this sprawling post-industrial squat of ours. I stepped in one
yesterday with my cement-encrusted foot and ended up clanking around in the
thing for seven hours before our helpful neighbor Gung-Ho placed a small shaped
plastic charge inside it and blew it off. (Like in the movies, the explosion 
just sort of blew me out of the way. How convenient is that?) Then I found a wet
mongoose in my bed, reading my magazines and eating cold corn on the cob. That's
the kind of day I had.
The rains have sort of put a damper on many of the money making activities we undertook to eliminate the debts incurred during our recent "inner-planetary" tour. Our discarded produce stand has so far been a non-starter -- that's what we get for having no overhead! Who the hell wants water-logged parsnips picked up off the road...or pureed tomatoes sold by the fistful? The only thing the rain didn't hurt was the rhubarb, and nobody knows what to do with the stuff here in Sri Lanka anyway. (Matt cobbled together a recipe for rhubarb-tofu aspic, but that hasn't caught on, either.)
Similarly,
Marvin's quest for gainful employment as an odd-jobs-doer has run into
rain-related troubles. First of all, the solid drenching he sustained on his
door-to-door journey made him considerably less presentable, as well as an
unlikely representation of the robot that invented electric succotash
(ordinarily a major selling point in the automaton day-laborer market).
Secondly, Marvin's joints began to rust again, and it took numerous
self-applications of 3-in-1 Oil to get him flexible -- all that effort for
a day's wage of less than 14 rupees. What a disappointment! Had this been a
successful project, I might have commissioned the building of thousands of 
Marvin-like robots, then sent them to toil in local factories for the usual
slave wage, handing all the proceeds to me, me, only ME. But the vagaries our
subcontinental weather have made folly of my plan, to the point where Marvin
himself can only be described as a substandard working machine. Can't exactly
rely on his income, and since I don't have one of my own.... (It's
just a good goddamn thing he knows enough to stay out of the rain now, because
his smile makes a lousy umbrella.)
Mitch Macaphee and John White had a hot one -- leave empty water bottles out in the courtyard until they're full of rain, then cap 'em and sell 'em as spring water. Sweet! John even slapped a label on the bottles that says "Cheney Springs" before he drove them over to the local market, where our neighbors snapped up all thirty of them. Okay, so where did this scheme go badly wrong? Though I resent the insinuation, I'll tell you, buck...it was when John and Mitch bought thirty bottles of spring water at the supermarket so they could re-use the bottles, yielding a net profit (loss) of (-.15) rupees per unit, not counting labor, labels, and commissions. I'm not an accountant, but I doubt even Arthur Anderson could make that little operation appear successful.
What
about...well....music? Our back-door sales of Big
Green LIVE From Neptune
bootlegs have been brisk (perhaps "frozen" is more the word). We sold
some CD-R's to our neighbor Gung-Ho -- I think he's using them for target
practice. I was able to convince some of the local mongooses (including the one
occupying my bedroom) to take a few off my hands, but payment in half-eaten
breadfruit is not going to dig us out of this hole. sFshzenKlyrn
and Marvin have been helping me with some new demo production, and with
mastering that solo number, "Red, Gold, and Green," that I put down in
a novelty record-cutting booth deep in the bowels of the 
Earth. Still no word on
whether we'll be allowed to do those gigs on Zenon and Kaztropharius 137b,
but my guess is that it'll happen in early December sometime (if we can scratch
enough breadfruit...I mean, cash together to rent a space craft of some
kind).
In the meantime, we'll just keep plugging away here at the Cheney Hammer Mill....plugging those holes in the roof where the rain gets in. (John and Mitch should put their water bottles where the buckets are and save themselves a trip to the courtyard.) Anybody seen my plastic wood?
Another
Landmark. Well, the chattering classes are really getting some mileage out
of Election 2002, calling it "historic" and a number of other dramatic
descriptors. And hell, it's the first mid-term election to go with the president
since...well, since the last mid-term elections in 1998. Far from a much
sought-after "mandate" for the fratboy-in-chief, this pretty much even
split confirms the voter apathy, confusion, and disengagement that marked the
2000 contest, a near perfect tie. Aside from not winning open Senate seats, the
Democrats lost one Senator to a (lucky) plane crash and two to the incompetence
of their leadership. They lost maybe 3 or 4 House seats as well, mostly because
they failed to make an issue out of the 
tanking economy, the pension crisis,
corporate crime, and other painfully obvious issues directly affecting voters. Imagine an election
where only one party shows up, and you've got 2002. Some mandate.
Naturally, Bush, Inc., will press their agenda on all fronts with added zeal, to the delight of the entire executive criminal class and psycho-evangelical chickenhawks they represent (you could hear the sound of slathering long before the polls closed Tuesday night). Not that creatures like Hills Clinton and Daschle put up much resistance while the latter was majority leader. I'm sure he and old Trent Lott (a.k.a. Last Year's Model) will find a lot to agree on...maybe Tom-boy can do some odd jobs for Mr. Lott, Marvin-style.
Either way, Daschle should make like Dancer and Blitzen (and Gephardt) and dash away into the night. Terry McAuliffe, while we're at it. They blew it, big time (and by the unsavory look of Al From on PBS the other night, I'd say they know it, as well). Aside from being morally bankrupt and politically vacant, their "strategy" of non-confrontation fell flat with voters and, more importantly, non-voters. It's time for them to go. Hear that, DLC? Out! Beat it! Scram! Done!
It's
also way past time for the House Progressive Caucus to take a page out of
Gingrich's old minority playbook -- namely, fight; don't apologize; stand for
something. Only do it for the people who make up the base of the party -- the
working poor, minorities, labor, and people who are being left behind by the
champagne-Mercedes-stock option claque now running the show. Latch on to those
issues that affect the vast majority of Americans... economic justice, health
care, the environment, workers' rights, war...take 
bold
positions and make your case with tireless conviction....stand with the people
you serve and find ways to make a difference for them. Don't roll over. Don't
play dead. That's not only how you win -- it's the whole reason why you should
win.
Is Nancy Pelosi up to the task? We'll see. She's better than most. But she'll have to use every ounce of combativeness to stand against nutcases like Tom DeLay. Then again, it shouldn't be that hard to make monkeys out of those fuckers, since they do half the job themselves. Anyway, Pelosi voted against war with Iraq and has a decent record, so...more power to her.
It is, however, up to the rest of us to keep the pressure on. We need to make political space for lawmakers and presidential wannabes -- they're much better at following than leading, generally. Check out our Links page for web resources on how to get involved. And keep your marching shoes handy...you may need them.
luv u,
jp
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11/17/02
Ahem...a-hem...
Is it that time of the week again? Funny how the monsoons can affect your mind -- after ten or twelve days of it, I feel like something that fell off the back of a banana truck. (Sound like it, too.) While I've been dealing with these minor temporal distortions, others have been busy doing the important work of saving our collective Big Green financial ass. Who would've thought that my trusty personal robot assistant Marvin would be the first to truly "move the needle" for us?
Marvin's
breakthrough happened quite by accident, actually. He was out in the hinterlands
last Monday morning, wandering aimlessly (as per usual) when he noticed
something protruding from a just barely-noticeable gap in an old tree. Marvin
took a closer look and discovered a cylindrical 
leather-bound case containing a
cache of old parchment scrolls. The documents were hand-detailed maps of the
area surrounding our current squat at the now-famous Cheney Hammer Mill.
Marvin's sharp electronic eye quickly confirmed that the smallholding upon which
our new lean-to is being built also fell within the field of these mysterious
scrolls.
Faithful servant that he is, he packed up his prize and carted it back to the Hammer Mill compound so that we could all have a look. (He got lost once or twice on the way home, wandering through Gung-Ho's bombing range and tying up traffic in one of the local villages, but he managed to hold on to the goods, nonetheless.)
When Matt, John, sFshzenKlyrn, and I got a look at these crumbling old scrolls, we immediately understood their value. These were booty maps drawn up by pirates who operated in this area and in parts of Montana during the 1870's (I believe their commander was an ancestor of US Senator Sam Brownback, but it may just be that they shared some common physical characteristic). How do we know? Well, for one thing, we have skilled scientists on board here at the Cheney Hammer Mill who can accurately date these documents to within five minutes of their creation using the ultra-precise carbon isotope or "wild guess" method. Secondly, we were able to pick up subtle clues from the text written in the margins of the maps as to who their authors might be; for example, this passage:
Arrr. This be the spot whar we hid the payroll from them scurvy knaves at that thar Western Montana Cattleman's Association steering committee. Arrrrrr.
While
the correlation may not be obvious to the untutored observer, my trained
ethnologist's eye can detect those deep-text identifiers that attribute this
work to a specific group of authors. Just to be certain, I had Trevor James
Constable train his orgone generating device on the scrolls, plugging the other
end into our 1964 RCA console television. When the set heated up, you could
clearly make out the silhouette of what was either a two-headed beastie...or a
man with a parrot on his shoulder. There could be no doubt...it be Butte DeLors,
the scourge of the northern badlands. Arrrr.
Naturally,
this lent added interest to the map illustrations, which depicted several
intriguing X's in the vicinity of our squat, our future home, and the
headquarters of our web site development company. We, of course, chose the
easiest one to investigate first -- a site just inside the gates of the 
Cheney
Hammer Mill courtyard. Determined to know what secrets lay buried under our very
noses, I grabbed a shovel and promptly handed it to Matt, who tossed it to John,
who broke it in two and chucked it out the window. A few hours later, I asked
Marvin to go dig it up and see what he could find.
What happened next I can only attribute to Marvin's somewhat dogged programming, as engineered by our own resident mad scientist, Mitch Macaphee. Our trusty robot assistant would dig a four-foot deep hole, and if he found nothing, move precisely four feet toward one of the cardinal compass points and dig another, then another, then.... Well, pretty soon all of our vehicles needed mufflers (including some that hadn't needed them before) because the little tin fucker had pocked the entire courtyard with diggings. (Now we know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.) These pirate maps are, it turns out, a bit imprecise.
Eventually,
Marvin stumbled on the treasure -- quite literally, as he had inadvertently thrown it up off the end of his shovel while digging one of his
little holes. I
asked sFshzenKlyrn to melt the lock on the
steamer trunk -- inside were more gold coins than a numismatist might see in a
lifetime at the Polish Community Center coin swap. We're in the chips, girls and
boys! You can stop feeling sorry for us...(well...unless you really want to,
that is.)
Operation Enduring Stupidity. Well, Robert Fisk thinks bin Laden is alive, and I see no reason to doubt him. (Click here to read his column.) That means that, by any objective measure, Bush/Rumsfeld's "war on terror" in Afghanistan was an abject failure, regardless of how easily old Rummy can get those Pentagon reporters laughing with his Long John Silver imitations. If this administration were being held to some standard -- even a weak one -- he might have to consider resigning. But hey -- why volunteer to leave when no one expects any level of performance out of you? Oh, except for the ritual blood revenge that his attack on Afghanistan (and impending attack on Iraq) constitutes in whole. Guess it doesn't matter what Rummy does...or how well he does it. (Can you tell he's spent a lot of time in Corporate America?)
Of
course, he's not unique in that respect. Aside from a lot of grandstanding, what
has Ashcroft accomplished? Certainly Paul O'Neil has been asleep at the switch.
Colin Powell still somehow gets points for "statesmanship" even though
he's stood quietly by while his administration has gutted every international
arms control agreement signed over the past forty years and made a mockery of
the UN (to say nothing of the continuing slaughter and occupation in Palestine).
Over at the Capitol, House Republicans are patting themselves on the back for a
job well done, as religious nutcake/exterminator Tom Delay takes over as
majority leader (sporting new caps and blow-dry hair). His replacement as Whip
(Roy Blunt) commented how he and his GOP colleagues have been "working
every day." And hey...it shows. Arrrr, mateys!
When
I look at this crew, it does inspire a level of cynicism in me. There's a corner
of my mind that wants to stand at the brink of the Iraqi conflict they so dearly
desire, point the way forward like Little Big Man did for Custer and say,
"You go down there!" But that would cost too many lives ever to be
worth it. And with the severely ahistorical, depoliticized, and one-dimensional
"flat earth" view of the world that so many of my countrymen hold,
it's the height of irresponsibility to encourage imperial 
adventurism,
even if such action might ultimately lead to the proper pasting our war-party
deserves.
Suffice to say that when you look around and see a tanking economy, the mid-east in turmoil, and a smoking hole in lower Manhattan, you can bet the Bush boys have been on the job.
Consequences. Despite the fact that (our ally) Pakistan has been beset by massive demonstrations condemning the execution, Virginia put to death a convicted Pakistani terrorist for shooting two CIA employees. I suppose President tenderfoot figures that them thar tin horn terrorists need to know that there are consequences to their evil deeds. The threat of execution is sure to make those suicide bombers think twice...
luv u,
jp
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11/24/02
Oy....
Hello and thank you for typing in our somewhat lengthy URL to share, once again, in these mad ravings I loosely describe as Big Green's web log. The rain is still falling here in Sri Lanka, and we remain huddled inside the dark confines of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, biding our time until the next interstellar sojourn and sitting on a trunk full of duty-free doubloons.
At
least, we thought they were duty-free. I mean, after all, we found them
in a hole in the ground, the spot pointed out to us by some pirate maps Marvin
(my personal robot assistant) found in a hollow tree. I have to think that
whoever put them there originally must have paid taxes on them. (I imagine those
pirates were very circumspect while they were burying their 
treasure, making
sure no black helicopters were hovering over head and that all relevant tariffs
were paid in advance.) So what the hell -- where does that guy from the Ministry
of Finance get off serving us with a tax bill for 90,000 rupees? What, have they
got cameras on us or something? Who spilled the beans?
I got some idea of what happened when the mail came yesterday. In it was a paycheck from the Ministry made out to "Marvin Automaton." Apparently in all the excitement over our successful treasure hunt, Marvin forgot to tell us that he'd landed a part-time job as a tax fraud investigator for the province. Just one of the many odd jobs he's tried for over the past few weeks. (My idea, I'm afraid.) So that little computer punch card check for 47 rupees cost us 90 grand in back taxes. Geezum crow.
If
I'd known Marvin was working for the MOF, I would've had Mitch Macaphee explain
to him that being a tax investigator means looking at other people's
fraudulent activities, not your own! Right now, I think Marvin 
equates this job with his old gig as an ice cream salesman -- he's been wearing
that stupid apron again. (Maybe that's his version of "going
undercover.")
After the tax collectors had taken their cut of the pirate booty, there still remained a rather obscene number of gold doubloons inside the battered chest -- more than enough to finance our trip to Zenon and Kaztropharius 137b, where our extraterrestrial fan base is eager to hear us perform the numbers on our LIVE EP, LIVE From Neptune, a big seller out yonder. For just a handful of gold, we could procure the use of that miniature replica of the Robinson family's groovy split-level space RV, the Jupiter 2...the same craft that carried us through our itinerary during last year's interstellar tour.
Of
course, its use this Fall would be all the more poignant after the passing of
Jonathan "Dr. Smith" Harris a couple of weeks ago. In his honor, Matt
and Marvin have agreed to do some ceremonial role playing as a tribute to 
the
fallen space villain, with Matt posing as the sinister doctor and Marvin as the
robot. (Or is it the other way 'round? I forget.) I said fine, as long as
they limit it to 17 hours a day and easy on the "Oh, the pain!" and
"Danger! Warning!" Otherwise, this could be a very long journey.
In the meantime prior to our departure in early December, we're tracking down all the other sites on our treasure maps to see if there's more gold buried anywhere, as the stuff comes in handy when diamonds are in short supply. So far, no great luck. One of the X-marks led us to a used pair of pirate boots. (The legend on the map said, "Arrrr...here's whar we buried Scully's booty." Shoulda known.) We also found one of those stationary bikes buried under another X. (Legend: "Arrr....here be that thar tin-plated devil what took a notch out o' me cummerbund. Yaarrr.") Interestingly enough, one site held nothing but a big black bakelite "X". (Legend: "Yaarr...this be what it appears to be, yuh black-hearted cut-throats!") No more easily negotiable gold coins in handy carrying cases, but we'll keep looking.
As
for our whirlwind tour, we've asked sFshzenKlyrn
to take a week off from his Hubble-stumping and act as our advance man, since
our corporate 
label, Hegemonic Records & Worm Farm, Inc., is having
nothing to do with the project. It means probably 30 hours on the phone and a
lot of interstellar travel, but he's happy to do it for the Big Green team, even
though he's slated to begin taping the second season of his popular cooking show
in just a few weeks. Good man...or I should say, good Magellanic fragment of
undefined nebulosity. Same difference.
As a further precaution against future tax judgments, I've put Marvin on back door sales of pirate CD-R's (or I should say, CD-"arrrr's") of our LIVE From Neptune EP, which you can now purchase online using your major credit card. Yaar, just log on to www.soundclick.com/biggreen and click on that thar CD link -- bust me bilges, it be simple as that.
Media-ocrity.
I just watched about 2/3 of MSNBC's "Hardball" and I feel like
I've been lobotomized. I'm trying not to imagine what happens to people who
watch (and listen) to shows like this (and that of the Ayatollah Limbaugh) all
the time. It reminds me of Monty Python's bit about priests in a vat of custard,
discussing vital issues of the day. What were the vital 
issues? That picture of
Dubya on page one of the Chicago Tribune that "makes him look
stupid." Then there was the one about Harvard University sponsoring a talk
by some poet who compared the Israeli Defense Forces with Nazis and said
American settlers in Israel should be shot. Both high on my personal crisis
list.
That Dubya "story" featured one defensive editor from the Tribune and several conservative commentators railing about the "liberal" media conspiracy to make Bush look bad. Of course, we all know that Dubya himself shows no evidence of being an idiot, so the debate was between the polar positions of "it was deliberate character assassination" and "it was an accident." Someone may have portrayed our leader in a bad light! Lives hang in the balance! The second "story" was an opportunity for Alan Dershowitz and others more reactionary than he to expand upon Harvard president Lawrence Summer's heinous efforts to equate criticism of Israel's policies with anti-Semitism. Like the Bush-Tribune story, it focused on a quite superficial matter -- whether or not this scholar/poet should be allowed to speak at Harvard. Momentous! (Both segments, of course, involved copious amounts of yelling.)
Watching
this and, in fact, most network news coverage of Israel/Palestine makes me
despair of most American's ability to understand what is happening over there
(i.e. the worsening occupation and dispossession of an entire people, the
deepening crisis funded by our tax dollars, the sickening military chauvinism of
Sharon and, in fact, nearly the entire leadership of both major political
groupings, etc.) and the unwillingness of our major institutions to encourage a
fuller engagement with the facts on 
the ground. Moreover, shows like
"Hardball" only serve to convince me further that the political
reactionaries who now run this country from stem to stern are almost
pathologically averse to criticism of any kind, and resort to hysteria over the
most trivial challenges of their ludicrous world view.
Meanwhile, the "liberal" media (like NPR) blandly talks about "regime change" in Iraq like it's something you can get done for $19.95 in about fifteen minutes with a coupon from your local paper.
Dip dip dip...get a job. Congress left town this week without extending unemployment benefits for laid-off workers, whose checks will stop a couple of days after Christmas. They did, however, manage to vote themselves a pay raise, so it wasn't a wholly unproductive session in the paycheck category, after all.
More
good news on the jobs front: Rudy Giuliani's got one! The patron saint of
trigger-happy street crime units has been hired to help WorldCom recover from
that little financial/ethical problem they had. That's like putting George W.
Bush in charge of elementary education...which, of course, he is.
Take the Invasion test! Okay, I've got it. The U.S. should not be allowed to even consider invading a country unless well more than half of its citizens can find it on an unlabeled map of the world. Oh...and find Connecticut. After all, we wouldn't want to make a mistake and invade the wrong country, would we? And little Connecticut looks so easy to beat....
luv u,
jp