A recent column by Charles Krauthammer had my dander up for a minute, but that was good, because it got me thinking about the two different services anti-semitism provides to the American right. For some on the right, antisemitism is a thing to accuse the left of. For others, it's like a delicious protein.
Krauthammer used some inflammatory words to describe Obama's recent decision to abstain from voting on the UN resolution condemning Israel over settlements. This symbolic "no comment," in the framing we hear so often, is "shameful," and represents for Krauthammer circumstantial evidence of Obama's "deep-seated antipathy to Israel." To the columnist's credit, I suppose, he used the word "perhaps," and avoided the word "antisemitism."
I'll say right now that there may not be any other issue that affects me quite this way.
There are many controversial issues where I'm not afraid to weigh in, but this one is different. I have friends who are passionately and professionally dedicated to defending Israel. I'm kind of hoping they don't read this, but if they do, I hope they'll be frustrated with me rather than furious.
I can't put it off forever, so here's my point. I'm no Israel-hater, and I have mixed feelings about Palestine. But I don't see how it's healthy when anything less than full support of a powerful country's military policies puts you at risk for the charge of antisemitism. This has been the case as far back as I can remember. Which isn't really that far, and I assume that most people who care deeply about this know much more than I do, so I don't have an official ironclad stance about the morality of either side in the great Jewish fight. As far as I can tell from my minuscule research, both Israel and Palestine have done things that resulted in children being repurposed as bags of meat. As a leftist, I keep getting distracted by that.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Monday, December 26, 2016
HOT PLATE-- RADIO FOR READERS?
Ladies and gentlemen, the reaction to my Christmas post about David Mamet, politics, prose, and religion may someday appear to have been a watershed moment.
My original plan for the Hot Plate radio show was to focus on politics (sociology, really) and music. In the months before the election, I imagined the political content would be just tolerated by music fans, and would constitute a benevolent welcoming of conservatives back into the fold in the aftermath of a Clinton presidency.
In the current environment, I've publicly focused on the political/sociological end of it, because it's all anyone's talking about, but in the background I've been preparing a lot of music-related material.
The Mamet threads gave me pause. I'd already been thinking about including some literature content on the show. I'm inclined to caution on that front-- but it may be that a certain amount of material in that vein could fly. Could Hot Plate be a place where smart people go to have fun, but also a place where fun people go to smarten up? Is it possible to have a radio show where the Stooges and Bernard Malamud are both grist for the mill? Is there an audience who will listen to discussion about Louis Jordan, but also about Louis-Ferdinand Celine?
My original plan for the Hot Plate radio show was to focus on politics (sociology, really) and music. In the months before the election, I imagined the political content would be just tolerated by music fans, and would constitute a benevolent welcoming of conservatives back into the fold in the aftermath of a Clinton presidency.
In the current environment, I've publicly focused on the political/sociological end of it, because it's all anyone's talking about, but in the background I've been preparing a lot of music-related material.
The Mamet threads gave me pause. I'd already been thinking about including some literature content on the show. I'm inclined to caution on that front-- but it may be that a certain amount of material in that vein could fly. Could Hot Plate be a place where smart people go to have fun, but also a place where fun people go to smarten up? Is it possible to have a radio show where the Stooges and Bernard Malamud are both grist for the mill? Is there an audience who will listen to discussion about Louis Jordan, but also about Louis-Ferdinand Celine?
Sunday, December 25, 2016
EVEN DAVID MAMET'S FALLACIES ARE GREAT FUCKING FALLACIES
A top shelf writer, to me, is one I enjoy reading even when I disagree with him or her.
Thus, my love for deeply Christian writers Flannery O'Connor, Evelyn Waugh, Graham Greene, and G.K. Chesterton. I don't exactly know how an evening with Waugh would have played out; I suspect the great man would have tired of me before I of him. But it's hard for me to imagine a sentiment so tedious that Waugh could not have enlivened it with his voice and style, shot through as it was with the best sentences available to us in English.
Shimmying across the street from Jesus's romanticizers to his descendants, we have the Jewish writers. For psychological and emotional reasons which may amuse and divert some among you, I put Jewish writers in a somewhat different category from the Christian luminaries above. Although I have no religious beliefs, I'm reluctant to tar Judaism with the same brush I use to tar Christianity. Do I believe in any Jewish religious doctrine? I do not. Do I therefore lump it together with its Christian cousin? I do not. What is my justification for this double standard? I have none.
Except, that is, for the way I feel. I've never felt that any Jewish person had the slightest interest in indoctrinating me, or the remotest need to shame me for not sharing their beliefs. This statistic has little value as data for generalizing purposes; much of my youth was spent in a Catholic private school which kept me largely (not entirely) sheltered from Jews, paupers, and nonwhites. But I can also say from my non-scientific observation of Jewish people, that proselytizing is not their thing. Whereas Christians of various stripes have knocked on my door, left things on my windshield, and accosted me in the street to tell me about the god they trust, I can't recall any Jews ever encouraging me to be more Jewish. Perhaps this is one reason why I don't typecast them as people I disagree with. Whatever Jewish doctrine may be, no Jews have ever felt the need to explain it to me, and thus its very mystery makes it enticing where the Christian doctrine is wearyingly familiar.
Thus, my love for deeply Christian writers Flannery O'Connor, Evelyn Waugh, Graham Greene, and G.K. Chesterton. I don't exactly know how an evening with Waugh would have played out; I suspect the great man would have tired of me before I of him. But it's hard for me to imagine a sentiment so tedious that Waugh could not have enlivened it with his voice and style, shot through as it was with the best sentences available to us in English.
Shimmying across the street from Jesus's romanticizers to his descendants, we have the Jewish writers. For psychological and emotional reasons which may amuse and divert some among you, I put Jewish writers in a somewhat different category from the Christian luminaries above. Although I have no religious beliefs, I'm reluctant to tar Judaism with the same brush I use to tar Christianity. Do I believe in any Jewish religious doctrine? I do not. Do I therefore lump it together with its Christian cousin? I do not. What is my justification for this double standard? I have none.
Except, that is, for the way I feel. I've never felt that any Jewish person had the slightest interest in indoctrinating me, or the remotest need to shame me for not sharing their beliefs. This statistic has little value as data for generalizing purposes; much of my youth was spent in a Catholic private school which kept me largely (not entirely) sheltered from Jews, paupers, and nonwhites. But I can also say from my non-scientific observation of Jewish people, that proselytizing is not their thing. Whereas Christians of various stripes have knocked on my door, left things on my windshield, and accosted me in the street to tell me about the god they trust, I can't recall any Jews ever encouraging me to be more Jewish. Perhaps this is one reason why I don't typecast them as people I disagree with. Whatever Jewish doctrine may be, no Jews have ever felt the need to explain it to me, and thus its very mystery makes it enticing where the Christian doctrine is wearyingly familiar.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
CURSORY RESEARCH CONFIRMS ALT-RIGHT EVEN BIGGER DISAPPOINTMENT THAN ALT-ROCK AND ALT- COUNTRY
I need to clear up a little mystery here before we get into the usual weighty matters. Can anyone confirm that I was hanging with Fred Hof last night at the gig? My recollection of Tuesday's events is pretty blurry this morning. All I know is that if it wasn't Fred, then I must have been chatting about Willie Nelson with some freakish hairy stranger at two AM.
And now, watch me make a sharp left turn from the right lane, fish tailing chaotically into a larger topic.
And now, watch me make a sharp left turn from the right lane, fish tailing chaotically into a larger topic.
Monday, December 19, 2016
CHICK MAGNATES, AND HOW TO ARGUE WITHOUT BEING A DOUCHE
My son's been staying up too late recently, so last night I started a new bedtime regimen-- I read Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" to him out loud. Interestingly, the turgid adventures of railroad magnate Dagny Taggart put him to sleep in record time, but when I tiptoed out of the room, he woke up and yelled, "Hey! Where do you think you're going?" This seemed apropos, given Ms. Rand's mission to create a race of angry somnambulists.
A few people out there have told me that I'm helping them stay sane. This puts a lot of pressure on me, of course, and I feel like I should come clean about something. If the dry, even-keel tone in my writing gives you the impression that I'm calm and relaxed about the blight upon the land, allow me to cordially disabuse you of that notion right this minute. I'm not.
A few people out there have told me that I'm helping them stay sane. This puts a lot of pressure on me, of course, and I feel like I should come clean about something. If the dry, even-keel tone in my writing gives you the impression that I'm calm and relaxed about the blight upon the land, allow me to cordially disabuse you of that notion right this minute. I'm not.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
"WHO CAN KILL A GENERAL IN HIS BED? OVERTHROW DICTATORS IF THEY'RE RED?"
Sleep deprivation and its seasonal henchman, Christmas music that has reached toxic levels, have conspired to keep me from blathering for a few days. At a gig the other night, we had so many requests for Rudolph and Frosty etc. that a kind of aural snow blindness kicked in, and I had trouble remembering which song I was playing. At the end of the night, our singer had sustained a disconcerting jingle-bell-related injury, and between that and the army of excited children fortified by acres of accessible cake, I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say we barely made it out of there alive.
Thursday, December 15, 2016
I'M JUST GLAD THE EVIL MEDIA HASN'T STARTED CALLING THEM "DONYE"
I've been struggling to process many issues this morning, and I'm looking at a big honking pile of research I'll need to do if I'm going to criticize a certain pundit whose name I won't mention, mainly because I've forgotten it. (Matthew Elrod? Big John Abernathy? No, it's gone.) So, research may be called for, but the sun's rising on a day where I won't have time for anything of the sort, because much of the next 24 hours involves multitasking of the most unpleasant kind--
By which I mean the kind of multitasking where some activities will require me to maintain a laser-like focus and the agility of a cat, while others will necessitate me adopting with lightning speed the slack-jawed nirvana of a mythical lotus eater. The quickest way for me to put that multitasking in perspective while sparing you the gory details is to omit verbs and modifiers in my explanation, and just list a few nouns.
1. Recording studio
2. Grandfather
3. Urethra
If you've ever signed up for a Mickey Mouse elective class to balance out a lot of exhausting mandatory ones, you'll understand why I've chosen the following topic to kick around today.
By which I mean the kind of multitasking where some activities will require me to maintain a laser-like focus and the agility of a cat, while others will necessitate me adopting with lightning speed the slack-jawed nirvana of a mythical lotus eater. The quickest way for me to put that multitasking in perspective while sparing you the gory details is to omit verbs and modifiers in my explanation, and just list a few nouns.
1. Recording studio
2. Grandfather
3. Urethra
If you've ever signed up for a Mickey Mouse elective class to balance out a lot of exhausting mandatory ones, you'll understand why I've chosen the following topic to kick around today.
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
DOG CATCHES CAR, CAN'T REACH PEDALS, BLAMES CATS
At this time, I invite you to walk with me as we assess the Republican Party not in ideological terms, but in the realm of the practical. The backdrop is Obamacare.
Republicans in recent years have put forward a curious combination of claims in order to justify us voting for them. On the one hand, they continue to remix new versions of their biggest hit, the one that seems equally beloved by rednecks and kabillionaires alike-- the Reaganesque premise that government doesn't work if it gets too "big." Conveniently, the meaning of "big government" is fluid. The kernel of truth in this concept is that it becomes unwieldy and sloppy, through a combination of overreach and bad management. (If you've ever seen the Andy Griffith episode where Barney Fife briefly takes over as acting sheriff, that's pretty much the picture. Andy is the GOP, and Barney is the Dems.)
But surrounding this kernel we find terms vaguely defined, and a double standard when assessing how well the government is working at any given moment. Although "big government" is bad because it's incompetent, expensive, and dangerous, anything that ticks those three boxes must also represent the vile intrusion of authority into the lives of citizens. When it comes to the question of whether big government behavior might include the intrusion into the sovereign states of non-white ethnic groups, the goalposts move in the shimmering and mystical manner of Rigadoon.
Republicans in recent years have put forward a curious combination of claims in order to justify us voting for them. On the one hand, they continue to remix new versions of their biggest hit, the one that seems equally beloved by rednecks and kabillionaires alike-- the Reaganesque premise that government doesn't work if it gets too "big." Conveniently, the meaning of "big government" is fluid. The kernel of truth in this concept is that it becomes unwieldy and sloppy, through a combination of overreach and bad management. (If you've ever seen the Andy Griffith episode where Barney Fife briefly takes over as acting sheriff, that's pretty much the picture. Andy is the GOP, and Barney is the Dems.)
But surrounding this kernel we find terms vaguely defined, and a double standard when assessing how well the government is working at any given moment. Although "big government" is bad because it's incompetent, expensive, and dangerous, anything that ticks those three boxes must also represent the vile intrusion of authority into the lives of citizens. When it comes to the question of whether big government behavior might include the intrusion into the sovereign states of non-white ethnic groups, the goalposts move in the shimmering and mystical manner of Rigadoon.
COMES THE DAWN
We had another late night in the studio, recording music and voiceover work for the Hot Plate! 120 Minute Radio Hour. As a result, I'm pretty fried this AM.
Here are the best three disturbing mental lapses, triggered by sleep deprivation.
1. A lot of blood around, but I can't tell whose it is
2. It occurs to me that there is a man walking the earth named Si Zentner, but I can't figure out why
3. Heard the song "Babe" by Styx, and I thought, "This song isn't as bad as I remembered"
Here are the best three disturbing mental lapses, triggered by sleep deprivation.
1. A lot of blood around, but I can't tell whose it is
2. It occurs to me that there is a man walking the earth named Si Zentner, but I can't figure out why
3. Heard the song "Babe" by Styx, and I thought, "This song isn't as bad as I remembered"
Monday, December 12, 2016
CALLING PEOPLE "EVIL" IS AN EXPENSIVE LUXURY
It's tempting to see Trump as a malevolent force corrupting us, rather than as one of us. This is a useful conceit for the fiction writer, because people love absolute villains like Voldemort, or Professor Moriarty. Unfortunately, when this Manichaean notion is applied to three-dimensional humans (even awful ones like Hitler or Dylan Rooff), the result can be dangerous. It comforts most people to believe that some people are "evil," because this characterization flatters the rest of us. Whatever mundane flaws we may have, at least we're not evil.
This self-congratulatory approach to morality is bad, but it's not the worst thing about the reflexive labeling of people as evil.
When we see people this way, it makes it harder to identify and fight the humans who invite the characterization. In the political arena, demonizing your opponent is more effective as a way of rallying your base than as a way of winning the hearts and minds of the enemy. There's no consensus as to why Clinton lost, and I suspect it's a crazy quilt of different reasons, but it does seem in retrospect that making the case for Trump being simply too awful a human being to run the country was the wrong strategy. (In general, appealing to the morality or conscience of the other party is a huge mistake, since both sides have vastly different ideas of what's morally right or wrong.
This self-congratulatory approach to morality is bad, but it's not the worst thing about the reflexive labeling of people as evil.
When we see people this way, it makes it harder to identify and fight the humans who invite the characterization. In the political arena, demonizing your opponent is more effective as a way of rallying your base than as a way of winning the hearts and minds of the enemy. There's no consensus as to why Clinton lost, and I suspect it's a crazy quilt of different reasons, but it does seem in retrospect that making the case for Trump being simply too awful a human being to run the country was the wrong strategy. (In general, appealing to the morality or conscience of the other party is a huge mistake, since both sides have vastly different ideas of what's morally right or wrong.
Saturday, December 10, 2016
SEEING THE GLASS AS HALF NAKED
On the issue of scantily-clad women and their place in our society, I have recently evolved.
I have two colleagues to thank for this. Jessica Jacobsen and Valerie Gregory-Woolsey graciously got me up to speed on their efforts to raise awareness of the prejudice that scantily-clad women face every day, and also occasionally at night.
I see now that my longtime policy of ignoring Facebook friend requests from half-naked millennials was based on an insidious form of self-hypnosis called "non-naked privilege." Those of you who go around all day wearing clothes all over your body may not be aware of this phenomenon.
Since I have liberalized my policy, the dripping tap of seminude ladies has become a torrent. Emboldened by the rhetoric of my new administration, scantily-clad refugees have set up a kind of shanty town in the vacant lot near my palatial home. Nicknamed "Scanty Town," the modest little encampment boasts a population of nearly one thousand unapologetically busty women with multi-ethnic names like Kukio Rajneesh-O'Reilly, provocatively eating chicken salad and drying their ripped t-shirts and teensy weensy g-strings on clotheslines as thin as dental floss.
I have two colleagues to thank for this. Jessica Jacobsen and Valerie Gregory-Woolsey graciously got me up to speed on their efforts to raise awareness of the prejudice that scantily-clad women face every day, and also occasionally at night.
I see now that my longtime policy of ignoring Facebook friend requests from half-naked millennials was based on an insidious form of self-hypnosis called "non-naked privilege." Those of you who go around all day wearing clothes all over your body may not be aware of this phenomenon.
Since I have liberalized my policy, the dripping tap of seminude ladies has become a torrent. Emboldened by the rhetoric of my new administration, scantily-clad refugees have set up a kind of shanty town in the vacant lot near my palatial home. Nicknamed "Scanty Town," the modest little encampment boasts a population of nearly one thousand unapologetically busty women with multi-ethnic names like Kukio Rajneesh-O'Reilly, provocatively eating chicken salad and drying their ripped t-shirts and teensy weensy g-strings on clotheslines as thin as dental floss.
HOT PLATE RADIO THEME, FASCISM, ETC.
It's a slow news day. Besides the CIA assessment that Russia worked hard to elect Donald Trump, who has now started an ominous project to identify and purge any Energy Department employees who trust scientists, and packed his cabinet with generals who see the world the way kids did in the 1950s, there's not much going on.
So it's self-promotion time! A few facts on the ground--
Yesterday I finished the theme music for Hot Plate! 120 Minute Radio Hour. It's a blend of bubblegum, the Stooges, Funkadelic, the Jeff Beck era Yardbirds, middle eastern music, and hiphop.
My blog is perilously close to 1000 page views. This means that if you subtract all the times I obsessively checked the blog to see how many page views it had, there were still hundreds of views from normal people. That is, unless the Russians are hacking my page views, based on some Muscovite plan to make me more popular so the civility I'm preaching will decimate anti-Trump dissent. I don't like to assume anything crazy like that unless I can find a fake news article about it, but the number is awfully high.
So it's self-promotion time! A few facts on the ground--
Yesterday I finished the theme music for Hot Plate! 120 Minute Radio Hour. It's a blend of bubblegum, the Stooges, Funkadelic, the Jeff Beck era Yardbirds, middle eastern music, and hiphop.
My blog is perilously close to 1000 page views. This means that if you subtract all the times I obsessively checked the blog to see how many page views it had, there were still hundreds of views from normal people. That is, unless the Russians are hacking my page views, based on some Muscovite plan to make me more popular so the civility I'm preaching will decimate anti-Trump dissent. I don't like to assume anything crazy like that unless I can find a fake news article about it, but the number is awfully high.
Friday, December 9, 2016
STRAUBINICAL NEWS DIGEST Nine.
STRAUBINICAL NEWS DIGEST Nine.
It's fascinating to watch conservative columnists George Will and Charles Krauthammer figure out their roles in the age of Trump. Both of them were outspoken, again and again, about Trump's lack of fitness for the job, and their clear opposition to his candidacy seemed evidence of integrity and bravery. I still think that, although lingering doubts creep in, for a few reasons.
A friend of mine who's not especially savvy about politics made an interesting observation. He didn't even know who those guys were until I explained it to him, but when I said they were taking a risk with their anti-Trump drumbeat, he suggested that perhaps it wasn't really a risk given the likelihood that most of their readers were Jeb Bush Republicans. How many of the "Lock her up" witch-burning crowd read print media at all, much less the Washington Post?
Beyond that, their post-election writing shows they object to Trump for reasons unlike mine, and their tone now could be described as cautiously haughty. It's like a movie scene where a snooty debutante dances with a pooular jock, while using body language to reassure us that she's not that kind of girl.
It's fascinating to watch conservative columnists George Will and Charles Krauthammer figure out their roles in the age of Trump. Both of them were outspoken, again and again, about Trump's lack of fitness for the job, and their clear opposition to his candidacy seemed evidence of integrity and bravery. I still think that, although lingering doubts creep in, for a few reasons.
A friend of mine who's not especially savvy about politics made an interesting observation. He didn't even know who those guys were until I explained it to him, but when I said they were taking a risk with their anti-Trump drumbeat, he suggested that perhaps it wasn't really a risk given the likelihood that most of their readers were Jeb Bush Republicans. How many of the "Lock her up" witch-burning crowd read print media at all, much less the Washington Post?
Beyond that, their post-election writing shows they object to Trump for reasons unlike mine, and their tone now could be described as cautiously haughty. It's like a movie scene where a snooty debutante dances with a pooular jock, while using body language to reassure us that she's not that kind of girl.
Thursday, December 8, 2016
ACROSS THE GREAT DIVIDE
Everyone hates taking tests, or filling out forms. So, in order to fool you, I'm pretending the following questions are not a test, or a form, or a survey. I assume that most of you will be gullible enough to buy this, although as your thumbs get more and more tired, doubts may creep in. Ignore them!
If you are one of the two and a half percent of Americans who like to go online and tell others what you think of their horseshit, your teeny-tiny demographic is especially crucial to me. Here's your chance to tell us what you think, but at length. (For those of you who get annoyed at the length of my pieces, here's your chance to waste MY time. Think of how good it will feel to force me to read YOUR ideas!)
Following are some questions I plan to ask people who come on the Hot Plate radio show, either as guests or as listeners calling or writing in. I'm asking everybody the same questions, whether they self-identify as conservatives, liberals, or something else.
Anyone who wants to answer one or more of these questions can do so here, in a comment, or email me at karlstraub@hotmail.com. If your response is long, feel free to make it a document. That will make it easier for me to collect all the data.
Feel free to be colorful! If you want to include profanity, or words that others may find offensive, be my guest. I calculate it could take as much as ten or eleven hours to answer these questions, and you may need to vent to keep your strength up. (Protein or liquor could also help. Use your judgment about that.)
If you are one of the two and a half percent of Americans who like to go online and tell others what you think of their horseshit, your teeny-tiny demographic is especially crucial to me. Here's your chance to tell us what you think, but at length. (For those of you who get annoyed at the length of my pieces, here's your chance to waste MY time. Think of how good it will feel to force me to read YOUR ideas!)
Following are some questions I plan to ask people who come on the Hot Plate radio show, either as guests or as listeners calling or writing in. I'm asking everybody the same questions, whether they self-identify as conservatives, liberals, or something else.
Anyone who wants to answer one or more of these questions can do so here, in a comment, or email me at karlstraub@hotmail.com. If your response is long, feel free to make it a document. That will make it easier for me to collect all the data.
Feel free to be colorful! If you want to include profanity, or words that others may find offensive, be my guest. I calculate it could take as much as ten or eleven hours to answer these questions, and you may need to vent to keep your strength up. (Protein or liquor could also help. Use your judgment about that.)
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
A MODESTLY-CLAD PROPOSAL
To the many Selfie-Americans (as I understand you prefer to be called), who take time out from a busy schedule of feline stretching whilst wearing bikinis and backwards baseball caps to friend-request me on Facebook---
I find that I must pick my words carefully. I don't want anyone to get the idea that I'm prejudiced against scantily-clad women. I believe that a scantily-clad woman can do anything a man can do, and very possibly some things he couldn't do. And when scantily-clad women are in jeopardy, or in a desperate situation of some kind, I don't think twice about pitching in and lending a hand.
Since our home is situated right next to a scantily-clad sorority house (the Epsilon Croppa Toppas), and it's obvious to the naked eye that I'm more or less a man's man, I'm often called upon to help them snake out shower drains, rebuild VW engines, and relight their water heater pilots.
I find that I must pick my words carefully. I don't want anyone to get the idea that I'm prejudiced against scantily-clad women. I believe that a scantily-clad woman can do anything a man can do, and very possibly some things he couldn't do. And when scantily-clad women are in jeopardy, or in a desperate situation of some kind, I don't think twice about pitching in and lending a hand.
Since our home is situated right next to a scantily-clad sorority house (the Epsilon Croppa Toppas), and it's obvious to the naked eye that I'm more or less a man's man, I'm often called upon to help them snake out shower drains, rebuild VW engines, and relight their water heater pilots.
Monday, December 5, 2016
STRAUBINICAL NEWS DIGEST Eight.
Just as "fake news" has itself become news, the rumor of a story has become, through the alchemy of social media, the story of a rumor.
An ugly and false allegation about local pizza restaurant Comet Ping Pong circulated on social media before the election. The bizarre claim was that a pedophilia ring operated inside this business, and both underground tunnels and Hillary Clinton were involved. (Why Hillary Clinton, a person who we've been told endlessly has enriched herself in numerous legal ways, would diversify her portfolio by expanding into this market, I couldn't say. It would seem that the "lock her up!" crowd is willing to believe virtually anything about Clinton, while accepting virtually no criticism of Donald Trump.)
For a while, the restaurant has been receiving a disturbing amount of death threats, due to the wildfire-like rumor-spreading possibilities available on sites like Reddit. Reddit had to actually ban the topic of "pizzagate," as the horseshit "scandal" was imaginatively dubbed. After enough credulous Americans started adding two and two and getting seven, they apparently decided
An ugly and false allegation about local pizza restaurant Comet Ping Pong circulated on social media before the election. The bizarre claim was that a pedophilia ring operated inside this business, and both underground tunnels and Hillary Clinton were involved. (Why Hillary Clinton, a person who we've been told endlessly has enriched herself in numerous legal ways, would diversify her portfolio by expanding into this market, I couldn't say. It would seem that the "lock her up!" crowd is willing to believe virtually anything about Clinton, while accepting virtually no criticism of Donald Trump.)
For a while, the restaurant has been receiving a disturbing amount of death threats, due to the wildfire-like rumor-spreading possibilities available on sites like Reddit. Reddit had to actually ban the topic of "pizzagate," as the horseshit "scandal" was imaginatively dubbed. After enough credulous Americans started adding two and two and getting seven, they apparently decided
Sunday, December 4, 2016
GOOD THINGS COME IN WACKY PACKAGES
My son isn't furious with me right this minute, which is nice, but an awful lot of ducks had to be lined up to get us here.
Earlier, he was seething with rage because I'd lost a valuable athlete trading card that he'd given me. I toyed with the idea of saying that I hadn't lost it, I'd just forgotten which enormously safe place I'd put it. Rejecting this gambit, I went into my office and checked the obvious spot where I would put a thing that was tiny and card-shaped, belying its immense worth. I looked at my Wacky Package collection.
On top of the stack was a Willie Nelson trading card I'd forgotten about. I can't recall why my son had this, but he gave it to me a while back because while he wasn't clear as to who Willie was, he figured I might be. Now I was irritated at myself for putting the damn sports card some other place that I would never remember, instead of with the Wacky Packages.
(Digression time-- these Wacky Packages were a big part of my childhood. After learning that Art Spiegelman had been one of the main creative guys behind the goofy parodies of consumer products, I realized that he'd led me to Mad Magazine, which in turn led me to Lenny Bruce, Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs, Robert Crumb, Jaroslav Hasek, etc. So I went to a Spiegelman book signing in the hope that I could thank him for setting me on a path toward Bohemianism. He was gracious in accepting this credit, and I kept our tête-à-tête mercifully brief.)
I returned from my fruitless card search, and tried to avoid my son's gimlet eye.
Earlier, he was seething with rage because I'd lost a valuable athlete trading card that he'd given me. I toyed with the idea of saying that I hadn't lost it, I'd just forgotten which enormously safe place I'd put it. Rejecting this gambit, I went into my office and checked the obvious spot where I would put a thing that was tiny and card-shaped, belying its immense worth. I looked at my Wacky Package collection.
On top of the stack was a Willie Nelson trading card I'd forgotten about. I can't recall why my son had this, but he gave it to me a while back because while he wasn't clear as to who Willie was, he figured I might be. Now I was irritated at myself for putting the damn sports card some other place that I would never remember, instead of with the Wacky Packages.
(Digression time-- these Wacky Packages were a big part of my childhood. After learning that Art Spiegelman had been one of the main creative guys behind the goofy parodies of consumer products, I realized that he'd led me to Mad Magazine, which in turn led me to Lenny Bruce, Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs, Robert Crumb, Jaroslav Hasek, etc. So I went to a Spiegelman book signing in the hope that I could thank him for setting me on a path toward Bohemianism. He was gracious in accepting this credit, and I kept our tête-à-tête mercifully brief.)
I returned from my fruitless card search, and tried to avoid my son's gimlet eye.
Saturday, December 3, 2016
STRAUBINICAL NEWS DIGEST Seven.
Donald Trump, if we're very lucky, will put to rest a canard that's long rankled me-- the business of Obama's Achilles heel being his exorbitant levels of self-regard. There would seem to be no reason to talk about that anymore as if it's a negative; this season, self-regard is in. It will be interesting to see if Trump, when the dust clears, will have spent more time bragging about the Carrier Miracle than it actually took to do the deal. (A similar phenomenon was observable years ago when The Who's various repackagings and recyclings of a slim discography began to outnumber the original releases.)
Trump is fond of framing his deeds in a semi-heroic light. For many of his admirers, he's something of a flawed demi-god, combining rough-and-tumble "guy talk" with supernatural abilities, not unlike his mythological analogue, the half-human, half-god Hercules. The eugenically pre-determined dealmaking prowess is why he stepped up to help a brother out, so to speak, but it's the tawdry locker room braggadocio that humanizes him.
Trump is fond of framing his deeds in a semi-heroic light. For many of his admirers, he's something of a flawed demi-god, combining rough-and-tumble "guy talk" with supernatural abilities, not unlike his mythological analogue, the half-human, half-god Hercules. The eugenically pre-determined dealmaking prowess is why he stepped up to help a brother out, so to speak, but it's the tawdry locker room braggadocio that humanizes him.
Friday, December 2, 2016
DONNY APPLESEED
DONNY APPLESEED
Donald Trump's strongest argument for his presidency may have been his fabled dealmaking ability. Of course, the fable was largely created and spread by the man himself. The Trump version of the Johnny Appleseed story is perfect for modern America-- where Mr. Appleseed went around doing something, and was celebrated for it, Mr. Trump did something, and went around telling people to celebrate it.
In Trump America, the polarization makes people swell with pride when they oppose the other side. And when the other side has facts-- which they do, sporadically-- then the facts must be opposed also. Sometimes they are spun, but this takes work, while discrediting is available to the entry-level political thinker. And this discrediting process has been going on for years. Richard Nixon's peevish grumblings about NPR have metastasized into a widespread elephantine dismissal of media as "evil," a tiresome word. I've seen and heard Trump voters talk about this, and their collective thoughts about "the media" are one of the most transparently obvious examples of confirmation bias in American history.
Full disclosure-- I'm a human being. Thus, I'm subject to confirmation bias just like the Trump voters are. This means that I respond to things emotionally, and after the fact I look for logic to bolster my emotional reaction. And I cherry pick the facts and spin that make my feeling look like truth. It must be said-- since I'm skewering the right and its ignorance today-- that smart people are as good as, or better at this confirmation bias game, than the less smart.
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