I have not been this angry about politics in quite a long time, it seems. To think, 365 days ago, I fell asleep on a couch in Washington, DC knowing that the next morning, I would bear witness to a seminal moment in human history, the inauguration of America's first black President, and the first - we thought - truly transformational leader of our time, Barack Obama.
I remember making haste to the West Lawn of the Capitol, desperately pushing my way through the thousands, and with tears in my eyes, listened and cheered one more time at the victory I helped create - not for me, but for my country, for my fellow citizens. Not an electoral victory, or a political victory, but a human victory, as I and the millions gathered at the Capitol on that cold January morning truly believed that we were on the precipice of a new American epoch, of peace and brotherhood, of teamwork and solidarity, of a renewal of the founding principles of this nation. We had come from the four corners and the nation and around the world, and we believed on that day the work truly began, that the hope was alive and well, that our dreams were coming true.
Now, one year later, our dreams lie in shambles, hijacked by the poisonous efforts of a small minority of very boisterous charlatans. Tonight, in Massachusetts, the place in this nation set forth from its creation as a Shining City on a Hill, the place where leaders are born and call home, the place which has given more good to this nation than anywhere else, tonight, in Massachusetts, the American dream is a dream denied. The people of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts have elected Scott Brown as their next United States Senator. He will take the same seat in the United States Senate as men like Adams, Webster, Lodge and Kennedy. A state senator from Wrentham will carry the legacy of these great men, a legacy to which he has avowed not only to deny justice but to do harm. And in so doing, Scott Brown will put the final nail in the coffin of hopes of those who spearheaded the movement for equitable access to health care as a fundamental right of citizenry in America, indeed the cause of his predecessor's, Edward Moore Kennedy, life. He will provide the necessary vote against any progress the country would wished to have made throughout the coming year. Tonight, progress became a victim of its own success, torn asunder by those few who seek to benefit from the misery of the many.
And so tonight, there are only words plain and clear for the actions of the people of the Commonwealth. Know that these truths are what you have done by your hand, Massachusetts. And that America is weaker for it.
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, innocent people in this country will die, victims of a broken health care system built for the powerful and not the people. And their blood shall rest on your hands.
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, our country is now set on an unwavering path towards inequity, injustice and strife.
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, fringe beliefs held by a small minority of ignorant people will now be given credence, broadcast for all the world to mock as the "true character of America."
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, our daughters, sisters, and mothers will wake up tomorrow second class citizens in the land they helped to build and help to lead.
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, the hope of millions of young gay Americans to serve their country or simply live a life of freedom has been deferred yet again.
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, we are once again faced with the certainty that the ever deepening divisions in our own society are the paramount markers of that society, rich from poor, black from white, gay from straight, men from women, entitled from those in need.
Because of what you have done, Massachusetts, a nation founded on the intrinsic human values of liberty, service and brotherhood has once and most likely for all lain waste to every one of its ideals for the sake of those divisions.
But, most importantly, because of what you have done, Massachusetts, tonight, you increased the chances that the baby crying out in hunger in the night is your brother, that the girl raped and left to die in an emergency room without quality and appropriate care is your sister, that the gay man beaten for being different is your son, that the immigrant rounded up in the night and sent a land not his own is your friend, that the person without work, left to freeze on a cold New England night without food or shelter, is you.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, March 02, 2009
Here, They Kill By The Handful
NOTE: I wrote this piece last Friday evening, after watching the Current documentary for the first time. In the few days that have passed since then, both the New York Times and 60 Minutes have shed light on the growing Mexican crisis, as well as being mentioned in David Gregory's wide-ranging interview with Defense Secretary Robert Gates on Meet The Press, and in several other mainstream news outlets. Thus, while it may now be a story people are finally reporting, I'm only too glad to add my voice to the chorus, and ask you all to take a closer look at the world on our Southern Border.
In November 2008, fresh off my triumph as a staffer with the Indiana campaign for now-President Obama, I made my way back across the country, seeing the USA in my...well, Toyota Corolla (sorry, GM) and making some interesting pitstops along the way. One night, it was a Monday as I recall, I laid my weary head to rest in El Paso, Texas, along the Rio Grande and the US border with Mexico. It wasn't much of a town, I arrived after dark, having driven from Dallas that day - all day - and didn't get to see much, other than getting turned around off the freeway and nearly making for Juarez, the Mexican city just over the river.
That night, after a fast food dinner in my moderately priced airport hotel room, I threw on the local news. They began with the local news in El Paso, which was inconsequential at best, I seem to remember some kind of bond issue, and maybe some controversy at UTEP, the local college.
Then, the newscasters began the news stories from Juarez, three miles away from my hotel. The fourth and fifth stories that night are ones I'll never forget. First, they had B-roll footage of what looked like a staged scene from a drug movie, like Traffic or something of that ilk. They proceeded to discuss the seven "executions" - they don't go through the pretense of calling them murders, sensing premeditation, or killings, intimating there had been some sense of targeting - that had happened that afternoon, in full view of police, on one of the main streets in the city. I looked up from the newspaper or magazine or whatever it was I was reading with the TV blaring in the background, jaw agape, to learn the details. A police officer had been killed in cold blood, and then, just for good measure, bystanders were shot with assault rifles. They joined the more than six thousand executions in 2008 alone, becoming almost faceless, nameless victims to the internecine battle that is gripping Mexico. The next story detailed a warning for young women of the Borderland, as three women had been kidnapped, again, in broad daylight. They were now among the hundreds who had been taken in the last year, most of whom end up raped, or worse, or sold into slavery or - if they were truly lucky - ransomed to fund the Mexican drug cartels and their all out assault on the world drug market.
These stories were treated as de rigeur by the media. Ho hum, another spate of killings, some more young women kidnapped, just another day in Juarez. And it wasn't that the anchors were trivializing the stories either, it's that they had become all to familiar. This was an ordinary day.
Laura Ling and Current TV recently traveled to Juarez, and other cities throughout Mexico to shine a light on this story. It is a battle of epic proportions, one that threatens to turn America's neighbor to South and one of our largest trading partners into a failed state within the next year. And it is a battle that the American press refuses - either wilfully or, more likely, blindly - to cover. Their full hour documentary is below, and I encourage you all to watch it. It is a gripping hour which should open all of our eyes to the crisis just miles away from our Southern border.
One scene in particular struck me. Laura and her crew travel to Culiacan in Sinaloa state, one of the centers of the drug cartels in Central Mexico, where they grow and distribute marijuana and cocaine. They follow a police brigade to the scene of a fresh killing, one man was dead at the hands of the cartel. And with the sun shining down, and the blood still wet on the ground beneath their feet, the officer Laura interviews says, "At least it's only one person, that's lucky. Here, they kill by the handful."
The cartels kill at will, without fear of retribution. How long until this war spills over the border? How long until these drug lords see fit to kill and rape in the streets of San Antonio? Phoenix? Atlanta? New York? Chicago?
The time has come to shine a light on people who murder at will. The time has come to reevaluate how we fight a "war on drugs" and start targeting murderers and rapists and torturers and work at the source instead of targeting users.
If nothing else, Lara Ling and her team show us that until people in power target these cartels, they will continue to operate at will. President Calderon of Mexico has done well and taken key steps to begin stemming the violence, but it may be time to bring international pressure to bear against the cartels. If nothing else, people must begin to expose this issue and bring it into the light of day, so that "executions" and kidnappings are treated like the crimes they are, not footnotes in the daily news.
In November 2008, fresh off my triumph as a staffer with the Indiana campaign for now-President Obama, I made my way back across the country, seeing the USA in my...well, Toyota Corolla (sorry, GM) and making some interesting pitstops along the way. One night, it was a Monday as I recall, I laid my weary head to rest in El Paso, Texas, along the Rio Grande and the US border with Mexico. It wasn't much of a town, I arrived after dark, having driven from Dallas that day - all day - and didn't get to see much, other than getting turned around off the freeway and nearly making for Juarez, the Mexican city just over the river.
That night, after a fast food dinner in my moderately priced airport hotel room, I threw on the local news. They began with the local news in El Paso, which was inconsequential at best, I seem to remember some kind of bond issue, and maybe some controversy at UTEP, the local college.
Then, the newscasters began the news stories from Juarez, three miles away from my hotel. The fourth and fifth stories that night are ones I'll never forget. First, they had B-roll footage of what looked like a staged scene from a drug movie, like Traffic or something of that ilk. They proceeded to discuss the seven "executions" - they don't go through the pretense of calling them murders, sensing premeditation, or killings, intimating there had been some sense of targeting - that had happened that afternoon, in full view of police, on one of the main streets in the city. I looked up from the newspaper or magazine or whatever it was I was reading with the TV blaring in the background, jaw agape, to learn the details. A police officer had been killed in cold blood, and then, just for good measure, bystanders were shot with assault rifles. They joined the more than six thousand executions in 2008 alone, becoming almost faceless, nameless victims to the internecine battle that is gripping Mexico. The next story detailed a warning for young women of the Borderland, as three women had been kidnapped, again, in broad daylight. They were now among the hundreds who had been taken in the last year, most of whom end up raped, or worse, or sold into slavery or - if they were truly lucky - ransomed to fund the Mexican drug cartels and their all out assault on the world drug market.
These stories were treated as de rigeur by the media. Ho hum, another spate of killings, some more young women kidnapped, just another day in Juarez. And it wasn't that the anchors were trivializing the stories either, it's that they had become all to familiar. This was an ordinary day.
Laura Ling and Current TV recently traveled to Juarez, and other cities throughout Mexico to shine a light on this story. It is a battle of epic proportions, one that threatens to turn America's neighbor to South and one of our largest trading partners into a failed state within the next year. And it is a battle that the American press refuses - either wilfully or, more likely, blindly - to cover. Their full hour documentary is below, and I encourage you all to watch it. It is a gripping hour which should open all of our eyes to the crisis just miles away from our Southern border.
One scene in particular struck me. Laura and her crew travel to Culiacan in Sinaloa state, one of the centers of the drug cartels in Central Mexico, where they grow and distribute marijuana and cocaine. They follow a police brigade to the scene of a fresh killing, one man was dead at the hands of the cartel. And with the sun shining down, and the blood still wet on the ground beneath their feet, the officer Laura interviews says, "At least it's only one person, that's lucky. Here, they kill by the handful."
The cartels kill at will, without fear of retribution. How long until this war spills over the border? How long until these drug lords see fit to kill and rape in the streets of San Antonio? Phoenix? Atlanta? New York? Chicago?
The time has come to shine a light on people who murder at will. The time has come to reevaluate how we fight a "war on drugs" and start targeting murderers and rapists and torturers and work at the source instead of targeting users.
If nothing else, Lara Ling and her team show us that until people in power target these cartels, they will continue to operate at will. President Calderon of Mexico has done well and taken key steps to begin stemming the violence, but it may be time to bring international pressure to bear against the cartels. If nothing else, people must begin to expose this issue and bring it into the light of day, so that "executions" and kidnappings are treated like the crimes they are, not footnotes in the daily news.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Give Me A Lever: John Kitzhaber for HHS Secretary
I got a text message yesterday morning from a friend of mine who is as much a political junkie as I am. It said, simply, "We lost Daschle."
My heart sank. The red-bespectacled wonder had won redemption, something that comes along far too few times in American politics, only to piss it away over a car, a driver and one, admittedly galactically stupid, tax error. Daschle is one of the nation's thought leaders on health care and how to fix our broken system. In fact, he may be THE thought leader on the subject. He basically singlehandedly wrote the new President's health care policy during the campaign. If you ask people high up in the administration, they will tell you when the time came to select a health czar, the President had his man in Daschle.
Of course, he was so busy figuring out how to fix health care, he kinda sorta forgot to pay his taxes. A lot of them.
Oops.
The truth is, Daschle could have weathered the storm, but - and I actually believe this when I say it - Daschle so intimately knew the fight he and the President were going to have to wage on fixing our health care system that any distraction - a la the HillaryCare debacle in 1993 - would give the entrenched interests an opportunity to distract, delay and defuse the forces of Good and defeat any bill that would move us to a progressive health system.
We need real movement on this issue and we need it today. No distractions, no sideshows, no BS. People die every day because of lack of access to health care in this country, which is a fact that drives straight through cruelty before arriving at being a sin, a stain on all of us.
So, with this early setback, where do we go from here? Why not try the Pacific Northwest?
Allow me to introduce you to Governor John Kitzhaber. I am lucky enough to have a friend and political mentor in Joe Trippi, my former boss on the Dean campaign. To Joe's credit, he has been out in front on Twitter since the Daschle retraction went down yesterday, introducing his legions of followers to the work Kitzhaber's Archimedes Project has been doing. And as I've read more about Kitzhaber, himself a medical doctor, and his project, I have been thoroughly impressed with his chops.
The Archimedes Project has been working since 2006 under three key notions on how to reshape the health care debate in this country. Instead of working to fix medicare or other barely functional existing institutions, we must ask ourselves a simple question: What would the optimal system look like that could improve population health, reduce per capita cost and improve the patient's experience regardless of their category, how care is financed, a person's age, income, race or gender? It is a more holistic look back at where we've been with health care, where we've succeeded, more notably where we have failed, and, most importantly a look forward to what American inginuity on this idea can bring us.
Kitzhaber understands, as well, that change like this does not come swiftly, but rather with the steady drumbeat of leadership and forward thinking coupled with legislative initiatives to back it up. And, more importantly, the Project understands that being a thought leader on such an important topic is great, but without the support of the grassroots, the people who will benefit directly from these ideas, the Project won't go anywhere.
John Kitzhaber is a perfect intermediary to work between the President and the Congress and the People on this issue. He and the Archimedes Project leaders understand the need to work collectively on an issue that will mean greater prosperity for us all. And, though I haven't checked his tax returns as yet, Kitzhaber showed leadership as a two-term Governor in Oregon, expanding access to health care and building economic prosperity throughout the state. I encourage you to read more about and get involved with Kitzhaber's current work with the Archimedes Project at WeCanDoBetter.org, and join in the growing chorus of support, reminding President Obama that real change comes from the people, and that leadership on this issue means working across all boundaries to get the job done for the American people.
My heart sank. The red-bespectacled wonder had won redemption, something that comes along far too few times in American politics, only to piss it away over a car, a driver and one, admittedly galactically stupid, tax error. Daschle is one of the nation's thought leaders on health care and how to fix our broken system. In fact, he may be THE thought leader on the subject. He basically singlehandedly wrote the new President's health care policy during the campaign. If you ask people high up in the administration, they will tell you when the time came to select a health czar, the President had his man in Daschle.
Of course, he was so busy figuring out how to fix health care, he kinda sorta forgot to pay his taxes. A lot of them.
Oops.
The truth is, Daschle could have weathered the storm, but - and I actually believe this when I say it - Daschle so intimately knew the fight he and the President were going to have to wage on fixing our health care system that any distraction - a la the HillaryCare debacle in 1993 - would give the entrenched interests an opportunity to distract, delay and defuse the forces of Good and defeat any bill that would move us to a progressive health system.
We need real movement on this issue and we need it today. No distractions, no sideshows, no BS. People die every day because of lack of access to health care in this country, which is a fact that drives straight through cruelty before arriving at being a sin, a stain on all of us.
So, with this early setback, where do we go from here? Why not try the Pacific Northwest?
Allow me to introduce you to Governor John Kitzhaber. I am lucky enough to have a friend and political mentor in Joe Trippi, my former boss on the Dean campaign. To Joe's credit, he has been out in front on Twitter since the Daschle retraction went down yesterday, introducing his legions of followers to the work Kitzhaber's Archimedes Project has been doing. And as I've read more about Kitzhaber, himself a medical doctor, and his project, I have been thoroughly impressed with his chops.
The Archimedes Project has been working since 2006 under three key notions on how to reshape the health care debate in this country. Instead of working to fix medicare or other barely functional existing institutions, we must ask ourselves a simple question: What would the optimal system look like that could improve population health, reduce per capita cost and improve the patient's experience regardless of their category, how care is financed, a person's age, income, race or gender? It is a more holistic look back at where we've been with health care, where we've succeeded, more notably where we have failed, and, most importantly a look forward to what American inginuity on this idea can bring us.
Kitzhaber understands, as well, that change like this does not come swiftly, but rather with the steady drumbeat of leadership and forward thinking coupled with legislative initiatives to back it up. And, more importantly, the Project understands that being a thought leader on such an important topic is great, but without the support of the grassroots, the people who will benefit directly from these ideas, the Project won't go anywhere.
John Kitzhaber is a perfect intermediary to work between the President and the Congress and the People on this issue. He and the Archimedes Project leaders understand the need to work collectively on an issue that will mean greater prosperity for us all. And, though I haven't checked his tax returns as yet, Kitzhaber showed leadership as a two-term Governor in Oregon, expanding access to health care and building economic prosperity throughout the state. I encourage you to read more about and get involved with Kitzhaber's current work with the Archimedes Project at WeCanDoBetter.org, and join in the growing chorus of support, reminding President Obama that real change comes from the people, and that leadership on this issue means working across all boundaries to get the job done for the American people.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Coalition for Change: The Real Team of Rivals?
Amidst the media-driven furore surrounding the rollout of Pres.-Elect Obama's cabinet, and the "One President at a Time" message that has become a press meme over the last weeks of economic consternation in this country, there is a real, no-foolin', honest-to-goodness street fight for the governmental leadership of a major Western power: Canada.
Yup, America's Hat decided that what's good for those of us below the 49th Parallel might make sense for them too.
You might remember (though no one would blame you if you didn't) that Canada held a federal election less than 45 days ago. That election, despite some close polling just days before the election spurred on by the horrendous economic news that hit in October, was won handily by the Conservative Party, and the incumbent Prime Minister, Stephen Harper. There has been, however, no honeymoon period for the new government. As you've no doubt seen from the news in this country, the economic news has gone from "Holy Crap" to "Stockbroker Suicide Watch" to its current state, "China's Redheaded Stepchild" in a matter of what seemed like hours. Leading the charge to ignominy has been the automotive industry, especially General Motors, which has very quietly become one of the most unfathomably awfully run companies in the history of modern economics. Adam Smith himself, were he to come back from the dead, would take a look at GM's books and "future plans" and quietly cry himself to sleep reading a copy of The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money.
Would care to hazard a guess as to what one of Canada's largest employers is?
Anyone?
Yup. General Motors. Ford too, for that matter. Windsor, Ontario - just a Sarah Palin glance away from the rusting former automotive capital of Detroit - became a hub for car production over the last few decades thanks to Canada's national health care scheme, which helped (wait for it...wait for it) shave overhead costs while getting essentially the same quality of work.
Now, back to today's issues for our neighbours to the, uh, Nourth. As Pres.-Elect Obama has already begun tackling the severe economic crisis that he will face as President beginning the 20th of next January by touting his new team of advisers, promoting economic stimulus and infrastructural redevelopment across sectors, so too has Mr. Harper, the Canadian Premier set to work on a new budget that will drastically and directly affect the lives of ordinary Canadians who seek assurances that their government, as ever a world leader in the welfare of its citizens, will once again provide the safety net they need to survive this deep, globally interconnected recession.
So, as Mr. Harper presented his budget to the Parliament last week, what schemes might his Conservative government concoct to see Canada through rough seas? Increased unemployment benefits? Job retraining programs to keep workers at pace with global trends? An Obamaesque commitment to reinvestment in infrastructure?
The answer they got was very simple. Nothing.
The Harper government provided no economic stimulus in the new budget, not even one of his good buddy George W. Bush's ridiculous tax rebate debacles.
And that brings us to the extraordinary situation we see unfolding right above us as we speak. Almost immediately, the opposition parties saw their moment, and thus was born one of the oddest political marriages in Western political history. The three major players in this new arrangement - Canada has never had a formal coalition government since the end of the Dominion - come from very distinct political paths. First, the leader of the opposition, Stephane Dion, leader of the Liberal Party. Quebecois, and with a political mindset forged from the rule of his predecessor, Jean Chretien, Dion led his Liberal Party since defeat in the 2006 election, after the disgraced Paul Martin was forced out by a Conservative non-confidence vote, through this latest round of voting, which saw the worst Liberal defeats in the history of the Party. He was so reviled within his own party that he began the leadership fight to succeed him even before ballots were cast. At this moment, three men are lined up behind him, fighting it out for the position of Liberal leader from May 2009. His political obituary was written, in stone, over the last month, as he seemed bound and determined to leave his party in disarray.
And now, Stephane Dion is the clubhouse leader for Prime Minister in a new government that could be formed within days. Talk about zero to hero...
Also in the mix is the man who has very quietly risen to prominence as one of the most Progressive political leaders in the Western world, Jack Layton. Layton, an Ontarioan and leader of the New Democratic Party has very quickly made himself into a kingmaker of sorts in federal politics. By providing the roadmap back to governance for the Liberal Party, Layton was able to secure six cabinet positions in the proposed new government, as well as a number of lower-level bureaucratic positions of importance for his party. Layton, and the NDP's, influence will thus have much more of a broad impact under this arrangement, particularly given the leadership struggle in what would be the ruling party. Thus, while Layton's gamble does not necessarily cement the NDP as a force to be reckoned with on the federal stage, it does better serve his constituency than Ed Broadbent's fool's errand during the Trudeau period in the 1970s. This, then, is truly the exciting part of the story for progressives on both sides of the border, as Canada looks towards a more progressive stance as America's staunchest ally. Now, that's change you can believe in!
But here's where the story gets really, really (are you even still reading), and I mean, really interesting. Given the disastrous results for the Liberals in the October poll, the combined NDP/Liberal Alliance would represent only 44% of Canadian support and only 114 seats in the Parliament, as opposed to the Conservatives 37% and 143 seats, respectively. So, how do we get this idea off the ground? Mais oui! Le Bloc!
The Bloc Quebecois' 50 seats, and 10% of federal support would push the coalition government to a majority government, of sorts. So, done deal, right? Well...geh...okay, does anyone know the Bloc's single, solitary issue?
Health care? No. The economy? No.
Reinstituting the Quebec Nordiques' hockey franchise? No...well, okay, maybe that too?
Yeah, Le Bloc is the separatist party of Quebec. So now, this coalition Canadian government will be held up by a party whose sole purpose is to work for the "rightful" independence of one of its provinces. However, of all three men who entered into this compact in Ottawa this morning, Gilles Duceppe may be the one who made the critical misstep. First of all, he is now going to have problems at home with the hardcore separatists who will only see him ganging up with a Federalist Quebecois and the Anti-Conservative (BQ voters tend to be issue matched with the Conservative Party) Layton. And second, perhaps more critically, Duceppe has promised to not push a non-confidence motion of his own for eighteen months, effectively declawing Duceppe to hold his former rivals to the fire on issues of import to Quebecois voters. At the first sign of trouble, he should expect a leadership fight bubbling up from the PQ (the provincial wing of the party), especially given Duceppe's own inability to secure more seats in the Federal Parliament or push a referendum on independence in his nearly ten years as party leader.
Now, these three men sit at the same table, a partnership forged from practicality, not politics, putting country before party. This team of rivals can look forward only to uncharted waters and stormy seas, but, if they can make this almost farcical arrangement work, it may cement prosperity for Canadians for decades to come. And, hey, it's fun to watch for us Americans. (Okay, maybe just us political geeks...)
Yup, America's Hat decided that what's good for those of us below the 49th Parallel might make sense for them too.
You might remember (though no one would blame you if you didn't) that Canada held a federal election less than 45 days ago. That election, despite some close polling just days before the election spurred on by the horrendous economic news that hit in October, was won handily by the Conservative Party, and the incumbent Prime Minister, Stephen Harper. There has been, however, no honeymoon period for the new government. As you've no doubt seen from the news in this country, the economic news has gone from "Holy Crap" to "Stockbroker Suicide Watch" to its current state, "China's Redheaded Stepchild" in a matter of what seemed like hours. Leading the charge to ignominy has been the automotive industry, especially General Motors, which has very quietly become one of the most unfathomably awfully run companies in the history of modern economics. Adam Smith himself, were he to come back from the dead, would take a look at GM's books and "future plans" and quietly cry himself to sleep reading a copy of The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money.
Would care to hazard a guess as to what one of Canada's largest employers is?
Anyone?
Yup. General Motors. Ford too, for that matter. Windsor, Ontario - just a Sarah Palin glance away from the rusting former automotive capital of Detroit - became a hub for car production over the last few decades thanks to Canada's national health care scheme, which helped (wait for it...wait for it) shave overhead costs while getting essentially the same quality of work.
Now, back to today's issues for our neighbours to the, uh, Nourth. As Pres.-Elect Obama has already begun tackling the severe economic crisis that he will face as President beginning the 20th of next January by touting his new team of advisers, promoting economic stimulus and infrastructural redevelopment across sectors, so too has Mr. Harper, the Canadian Premier set to work on a new budget that will drastically and directly affect the lives of ordinary Canadians who seek assurances that their government, as ever a world leader in the welfare of its citizens, will once again provide the safety net they need to survive this deep, globally interconnected recession.
So, as Mr. Harper presented his budget to the Parliament last week, what schemes might his Conservative government concoct to see Canada through rough seas? Increased unemployment benefits? Job retraining programs to keep workers at pace with global trends? An Obamaesque commitment to reinvestment in infrastructure?
The answer they got was very simple. Nothing.
The Harper government provided no economic stimulus in the new budget, not even one of his good buddy George W. Bush's ridiculous tax rebate debacles.
And that brings us to the extraordinary situation we see unfolding right above us as we speak. Almost immediately, the opposition parties saw their moment, and thus was born one of the oddest political marriages in Western political history. The three major players in this new arrangement - Canada has never had a formal coalition government since the end of the Dominion - come from very distinct political paths. First, the leader of the opposition, Stephane Dion, leader of the Liberal Party. Quebecois, and with a political mindset forged from the rule of his predecessor, Jean Chretien, Dion led his Liberal Party since defeat in the 2006 election, after the disgraced Paul Martin was forced out by a Conservative non-confidence vote, through this latest round of voting, which saw the worst Liberal defeats in the history of the Party. He was so reviled within his own party that he began the leadership fight to succeed him even before ballots were cast. At this moment, three men are lined up behind him, fighting it out for the position of Liberal leader from May 2009. His political obituary was written, in stone, over the last month, as he seemed bound and determined to leave his party in disarray.
And now, Stephane Dion is the clubhouse leader for Prime Minister in a new government that could be formed within days. Talk about zero to hero...
Also in the mix is the man who has very quietly risen to prominence as one of the most Progressive political leaders in the Western world, Jack Layton. Layton, an Ontarioan and leader of the New Democratic Party has very quickly made himself into a kingmaker of sorts in federal politics. By providing the roadmap back to governance for the Liberal Party, Layton was able to secure six cabinet positions in the proposed new government, as well as a number of lower-level bureaucratic positions of importance for his party. Layton, and the NDP's, influence will thus have much more of a broad impact under this arrangement, particularly given the leadership struggle in what would be the ruling party. Thus, while Layton's gamble does not necessarily cement the NDP as a force to be reckoned with on the federal stage, it does better serve his constituency than Ed Broadbent's fool's errand during the Trudeau period in the 1970s. This, then, is truly the exciting part of the story for progressives on both sides of the border, as Canada looks towards a more progressive stance as America's staunchest ally. Now, that's change you can believe in!
But here's where the story gets really, really (are you even still reading), and I mean, really interesting. Given the disastrous results for the Liberals in the October poll, the combined NDP/Liberal Alliance would represent only 44% of Canadian support and only 114 seats in the Parliament, as opposed to the Conservatives 37% and 143 seats, respectively. So, how do we get this idea off the ground? Mais oui! Le Bloc!
The Bloc Quebecois' 50 seats, and 10% of federal support would push the coalition government to a majority government, of sorts. So, done deal, right? Well...geh...okay, does anyone know the Bloc's single, solitary issue?
Health care? No. The economy? No.
Reinstituting the Quebec Nordiques' hockey franchise? No...well, okay, maybe that too?
Yeah, Le Bloc is the separatist party of Quebec. So now, this coalition Canadian government will be held up by a party whose sole purpose is to work for the "rightful" independence of one of its provinces. However, of all three men who entered into this compact in Ottawa this morning, Gilles Duceppe may be the one who made the critical misstep. First of all, he is now going to have problems at home with the hardcore separatists who will only see him ganging up with a Federalist Quebecois and the Anti-Conservative (BQ voters tend to be issue matched with the Conservative Party) Layton. And second, perhaps more critically, Duceppe has promised to not push a non-confidence motion of his own for eighteen months, effectively declawing Duceppe to hold his former rivals to the fire on issues of import to Quebecois voters. At the first sign of trouble, he should expect a leadership fight bubbling up from the PQ (the provincial wing of the party), especially given Duceppe's own inability to secure more seats in the Federal Parliament or push a referendum on independence in his nearly ten years as party leader.
Now, these three men sit at the same table, a partnership forged from practicality, not politics, putting country before party. This team of rivals can look forward only to uncharted waters and stormy seas, but, if they can make this almost farcical arrangement work, it may cement prosperity for Canadians for decades to come. And, hey, it's fun to watch for us Americans. (Okay, maybe just us political geeks...)
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Wall Street to Main Street: The Financial Crisis in Context
Hello again.
Most of you know where I'm at, but for those who don't. 8 days ago, I quit my job in San Francisco, pulled up stakes (if only briefly) to work with Senator Obama's campaign in Columbus, Indiana. A bit of a seismic shift to be sure, but one which I welcomed with open arms. To spend 50 days to get a man with the character and leadership abilities of Barack Obama is a charge I am honored to take up.
That said, I've been spending a lot of time out on the streets of Columbus (population 40,000), speaking with voters door-to-door, mostly undecided, trying to get them out to vote for Barack. In the last 48 hours, the conversations I've been having have definitely taken a different tack, focusing largely on the economy.
I must say, maybe I'm witnessing an outlier, but for the most part, these independent voters I've been getting to know have been particularly savvy on the issues. They understand that the failures of Lehman, Merrill and AIG have a direct impact in their daily lives. They understand companies like Cummins, the major employer here, do not exist in a vacuum, and that the Wall Street firms provide the capital necessary to keep good paying jobs here in Indiana. And they understand that it is the failed policies of the last eight years of financial mismanagement from George Bush (and, yes, his Congressional henchman - Mr. 90% - John McCain) that have led us to the precipice. Some of the voters I talk to - I tend to go out during the weekdays a lot - are seniors, and they remember Herbert Hoover and the Depression. One woman even told me she thinks McCain's economic outlook reminds her of Hoover (she was pretty feisty!) and it scares.
For God's sake, he uses the same the terminology - the fundamentals of our economy are strong - that Hoover did!
America couldn't afford Herbert Hoover then, and they can't John McHoover now. And these people know it.
---
I'll try to update as much as I can, especially as we help turn Indiana Blue!
Most of you know where I'm at, but for those who don't. 8 days ago, I quit my job in San Francisco, pulled up stakes (if only briefly) to work with Senator Obama's campaign in Columbus, Indiana. A bit of a seismic shift to be sure, but one which I welcomed with open arms. To spend 50 days to get a man with the character and leadership abilities of Barack Obama is a charge I am honored to take up.
That said, I've been spending a lot of time out on the streets of Columbus (population 40,000), speaking with voters door-to-door, mostly undecided, trying to get them out to vote for Barack. In the last 48 hours, the conversations I've been having have definitely taken a different tack, focusing largely on the economy.
I must say, maybe I'm witnessing an outlier, but for the most part, these independent voters I've been getting to know have been particularly savvy on the issues. They understand that the failures of Lehman, Merrill and AIG have a direct impact in their daily lives. They understand companies like Cummins, the major employer here, do not exist in a vacuum, and that the Wall Street firms provide the capital necessary to keep good paying jobs here in Indiana. And they understand that it is the failed policies of the last eight years of financial mismanagement from George Bush (and, yes, his Congressional henchman - Mr. 90% - John McCain) that have led us to the precipice. Some of the voters I talk to - I tend to go out during the weekdays a lot - are seniors, and they remember Herbert Hoover and the Depression. One woman even told me she thinks McCain's economic outlook reminds her of Hoover (she was pretty feisty!) and it scares.
For God's sake, he uses the same the terminology - the fundamentals of our economy are strong - that Hoover did!
America couldn't afford Herbert Hoover then, and they can't John McHoover now. And these people know it.
---
I'll try to update as much as I can, especially as we help turn Indiana Blue!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
McAfee Coliseum: A Thoroughly Adequate Baseball Experience
Realistically, I was ready to hate McAfee Coliseum. But when I traveled over there this morning for Dave Stewart Retro Jersey day (I was too late to get a jersey. I am still angry about this.) something happened. Something changed. I didn't hate it, and it didn't suck.
Look, the atmosphere is middling to poor at best. They have made some drastic improvements to the place that had miles of foul territory up until recently, but it is still not a great place to watch a game. You are fundamentally disconnected from the action, even in the best seats in the house (not that Mark and I were sitting in them...). But in that way, it reminded me a lot of Yankee Stadium.
Now I know you'll all scream bias when I dump on the Toilet (pun firmly intended), but Yankee Stadium is a fundamentally awful place to watch baseball for the very reason that makes Fenway or AT&T here in San Francisco or Jacobs Field in Cleveland great places to watch baseball. At McAfee, like Yankee Stadium and - actually - like Nationals Park in DC oddly enough, you are so far away from the players and action happening on the field, that it is easy to get distracted, forget about the product on the field, get wrapped up into something else. That kind of thing cannot happen at Fenway or AT&T or Camden Yards, because as a fan in those arenas, you are part of the action. It consumes you. You and your fellow fans rise up and breathe and scream and cheer and boo together. It's the places like those that make baseball special.
Baseball is not special at McAfee. Even just walking through the gigantic concrete behemoth, you understand that the A's are a baseball team playing in a football stadium. The sightlines are wrong. Whole portions of the stadium lie dormant. Your focus is more on the myriad of - just god awful - food and beverage options than on the game. Maybe that's the way they want it, they sell more goods and services and I buy them for lack of anything else to really do. Maybe I'm too much of a purist. Maybe that is just the business of mid-market baseball.
But the stadium - and my ass poor $5 "hot dog" aside - the experience, on balance, was enjoyable. Hell, if you let me go to a baseball game for $9 and not sit behind a pole or look through a peephole or something, I'm taking that deal every day of the week. It was even a good game, Duchscherererererer was dealing, we had two 9th inning rallies, one that won the game, one that fell short, and I got to see K-Rod up close and personal (ok, not THAT close) in the amazing season he's having. It was a thoroughly adequate day out to be sure.
Look, the atmosphere is middling to poor at best. They have made some drastic improvements to the place that had miles of foul territory up until recently, but it is still not a great place to watch a game. You are fundamentally disconnected from the action, even in the best seats in the house (not that Mark and I were sitting in them...). But in that way, it reminded me a lot of Yankee Stadium.
Now I know you'll all scream bias when I dump on the Toilet (pun firmly intended), but Yankee Stadium is a fundamentally awful place to watch baseball for the very reason that makes Fenway or AT&T here in San Francisco or Jacobs Field in Cleveland great places to watch baseball. At McAfee, like Yankee Stadium and - actually - like Nationals Park in DC oddly enough, you are so far away from the players and action happening on the field, that it is easy to get distracted, forget about the product on the field, get wrapped up into something else. That kind of thing cannot happen at Fenway or AT&T or Camden Yards, because as a fan in those arenas, you are part of the action. It consumes you. You and your fellow fans rise up and breathe and scream and cheer and boo together. It's the places like those that make baseball special.
Baseball is not special at McAfee. Even just walking through the gigantic concrete behemoth, you understand that the A's are a baseball team playing in a football stadium. The sightlines are wrong. Whole portions of the stadium lie dormant. Your focus is more on the myriad of - just god awful - food and beverage options than on the game. Maybe that's the way they want it, they sell more goods and services and I buy them for lack of anything else to really do. Maybe I'm too much of a purist. Maybe that is just the business of mid-market baseball.
But the stadium - and my ass poor $5 "hot dog" aside - the experience, on balance, was enjoyable. Hell, if you let me go to a baseball game for $9 and not sit behind a pole or look through a peephole or something, I'm taking that deal every day of the week. It was even a good game, Duchscherererererer was dealing, we had two 9th inning rallies, one that won the game, one that fell short, and I got to see K-Rod up close and personal (ok, not THAT close) in the amazing season he's having. It was a thoroughly adequate day out to be sure.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Getting Settled
The tumult of the last month has been such that I haven't been able to properly sit and think and update the way I wanted to, and told you all that I would. However, I am forced to stay at work until 6 tonight, and all my work is done, so you, dear reader, are the beneficiary of my efficiency yet again.
I have, at long last, and through great pain, suffering, joy and wonder, arrived and settled in the City by the Bay. The last month has seen me on both coasts, in innumerable airports, bars, offices, apartments, and baseball parks, all in a great quest to get out here, once and for all.
The odyssey began in New York, where I received word, as most of you know, that I would be transitioning into a new role as an Associate with the Innovation and Operations Practice of the Corporate Executive Board. Less than 80 hours after making my acceptance, standing in a suit in Union Square, New York, I was in Waterview, Rosslyn, Virginia, getting oriented to my new position.
The three weeks that followed are largely a blur, thanks to my fellow colleagues who started the same day, and whom I quickly dubbed "The Channel 4 News Team." I assumed the role, of course, of Ron Burgundy, and was helped in my efforts to drink, carouse and generally enjoy life by a merry band of characters, including Champ (Peter), Brian Fantana (Jenny), and Alycia, our very own Brick Tamland. They helped fill three weeks of desperate boredom and hostility, stuck in Rosslyn, with stories that, while not fit for such an austere venue as this, will be shared around watercoolers and campfires for years to come.
My introduction to CEB was a whirlwind of acronyms, scripting, mission statements and goal setting. Trying corporate America on for size has been a relatively smooth transition from the world I had been in; almost as if it were far away, so close. Many of my fears of joining the work-a-day world have been allayed. I don't feel soulless and disgusting, or like a snake-oil salesman, or like a complete failure and sellout. In all honesty, the work we do here has real merit for this economy, and for companies to succeed by working together instead of ripping each other apart. It is not quite the socialist, communitarian utopia, but it's a start.
Much of my wariness of the corporate world has been stopped short by the fact that I am living in an incredibly beautiful and vibrant place. San Francisco is a world city, unparalleled in the opportunities it presents and the culture embodied within it. In the same way that the Obama campaign is the Dean campaign perfected (more on that another time), San Francisco is like Boston perfected. Beautiful weather, wonderful people, laid-back attitude, kickass food and wine, all within reach. And yet with the charm and decency of a insular microculture that no city can match. It rivals Cape Town for me in that. Doesn't beat it, but it does rival it.
I am living in Pacific Heights, just off the quiet bustle of Fillmore Street for the month. I am going to find it tough to leave. Between the burger special at Harry's (hands down best in the city), shopping at Mollie Stone's, or just taking in the views from my window, looking over Alta Plaza Park, I have become enchanted with it already. My checkbook on the other hand...oh well, we won't get into that. I literally found the place at the very last minute. I was 6 hours away from being homeless and I pulled through. What luck. A studio, all to myself, for a month, in the best neighborhood in the city. I can't complain.
All in all, the last month has been completely crazy, but I am looking forward to what's next.
I have, at long last, and through great pain, suffering, joy and wonder, arrived and settled in the City by the Bay. The last month has seen me on both coasts, in innumerable airports, bars, offices, apartments, and baseball parks, all in a great quest to get out here, once and for all.
The odyssey began in New York, where I received word, as most of you know, that I would be transitioning into a new role as an Associate with the Innovation and Operations Practice of the Corporate Executive Board. Less than 80 hours after making my acceptance, standing in a suit in Union Square, New York, I was in Waterview, Rosslyn, Virginia, getting oriented to my new position.
The three weeks that followed are largely a blur, thanks to my fellow colleagues who started the same day, and whom I quickly dubbed "The Channel 4 News Team." I assumed the role, of course, of Ron Burgundy, and was helped in my efforts to drink, carouse and generally enjoy life by a merry band of characters, including Champ (Peter), Brian Fantana (Jenny), and Alycia, our very own Brick Tamland. They helped fill three weeks of desperate boredom and hostility, stuck in Rosslyn, with stories that, while not fit for such an austere venue as this, will be shared around watercoolers and campfires for years to come.
My introduction to CEB was a whirlwind of acronyms, scripting, mission statements and goal setting. Trying corporate America on for size has been a relatively smooth transition from the world I had been in; almost as if it were far away, so close. Many of my fears of joining the work-a-day world have been allayed. I don't feel soulless and disgusting, or like a snake-oil salesman, or like a complete failure and sellout. In all honesty, the work we do here has real merit for this economy, and for companies to succeed by working together instead of ripping each other apart. It is not quite the socialist, communitarian utopia, but it's a start.
Much of my wariness of the corporate world has been stopped short by the fact that I am living in an incredibly beautiful and vibrant place. San Francisco is a world city, unparalleled in the opportunities it presents and the culture embodied within it. In the same way that the Obama campaign is the Dean campaign perfected (more on that another time), San Francisco is like Boston perfected. Beautiful weather, wonderful people, laid-back attitude, kickass food and wine, all within reach. And yet with the charm and decency of a insular microculture that no city can match. It rivals Cape Town for me in that. Doesn't beat it, but it does rival it.
I am living in Pacific Heights, just off the quiet bustle of Fillmore Street for the month. I am going to find it tough to leave. Between the burger special at Harry's (hands down best in the city), shopping at Mollie Stone's, or just taking in the views from my window, looking over Alta Plaza Park, I have become enchanted with it already. My checkbook on the other hand...oh well, we won't get into that. I literally found the place at the very last minute. I was 6 hours away from being homeless and I pulled through. What luck. A studio, all to myself, for a month, in the best neighborhood in the city. I can't complain.
All in all, the last month has been completely crazy, but I am looking forward to what's next.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Let Us Begin
Even the clattering dittoheads will acquiesce now.
This evening, amongst the Badlands and the Big Sky, the Junior Senator from the Land of Lincoln will be able to claim victory. Tonight, America will stand for change. Tonight, America will set the stage for the greatest electoral fight of our lives. For tonight, Barack Obama will, finally, be named officially the presumptive Democratic nominee for President of the United States.
Whether he gives a big speech or not, whether his now former opponent will make one final stand or not, whether his new opponent tries to crash the party or not, what tonight signals is a seismic shift in American thinking, in American policy, in the hearts of the American voter and, yes, in American history.
It has often been said that Slavery was this country's original sin. That the kidnapping, enforced labor, sale and genocide of an entire race of people was a major engine in the creation of this country, sadly, must always be acknowledged. Tonight, the presumptive nomination of Barack Obama, may finally begin to work back that stain on our history. A child of the Civil Rights Act, a citizen of the world, his was a candidacy and will be a government, built on a Perfect Political Storm to be sure, but one that has the opportunity to be transformational in nature.
Not merely transactional as many of his predecessors have been, bartering for votes and making concessions out of political expediency, but his was a candidacy and will be a government that will seek to transform American politics and government for generations to come.
He is the legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy in that way. He will have the gravitas, the will, the wherewithal, the drive, the determination and the guts to seek change across disciplines and interest groups, in many different segments of the American society. His Presidency will be the next great step in the American Experiment. His is the promise of a new generation.
We may not see the change promised in the next financial quarter, or the next four or eight years, or even in this generation or in our lifetimes. And thus, from the candidate on down, the time has come together as a party, and as a country and as a society and support Barack Obama.
For it will all be a dream without hard work.
The fight of our lives is upon us and will yield the promise of a new American century. Let us begin.
This evening, amongst the Badlands and the Big Sky, the Junior Senator from the Land of Lincoln will be able to claim victory. Tonight, America will stand for change. Tonight, America will set the stage for the greatest electoral fight of our lives. For tonight, Barack Obama will, finally, be named officially the presumptive Democratic nominee for President of the United States.
Whether he gives a big speech or not, whether his now former opponent will make one final stand or not, whether his new opponent tries to crash the party or not, what tonight signals is a seismic shift in American thinking, in American policy, in the hearts of the American voter and, yes, in American history.
It has often been said that Slavery was this country's original sin. That the kidnapping, enforced labor, sale and genocide of an entire race of people was a major engine in the creation of this country, sadly, must always be acknowledged. Tonight, the presumptive nomination of Barack Obama, may finally begin to work back that stain on our history. A child of the Civil Rights Act, a citizen of the world, his was a candidacy and will be a government, built on a Perfect Political Storm to be sure, but one that has the opportunity to be transformational in nature.
Not merely transactional as many of his predecessors have been, bartering for votes and making concessions out of political expediency, but his was a candidacy and will be a government that will seek to transform American politics and government for generations to come.
He is the legacy of John Fitzgerald Kennedy in that way. He will have the gravitas, the will, the wherewithal, the drive, the determination and the guts to seek change across disciplines and interest groups, in many different segments of the American society. His Presidency will be the next great step in the American Experiment. His is the promise of a new generation.
We may not see the change promised in the next financial quarter, or the next four or eight years, or even in this generation or in our lifetimes. And thus, from the candidate on down, the time has come together as a party, and as a country and as a society and support Barack Obama.
For it will all be a dream without hard work.
The fight of our lives is upon us and will yield the promise of a new American century. Let us begin.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Good Things Come to Those Who Wait
It was a grim, gray, dull, lazy Saturday here on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. One of those brutal New York days, where the air is thick with the musty odors of the city hanging in humid air. The city is aching to breathe, praying for rain and continuously waiting for the respite to come. It was the perfect day for a field trip.
As the rain finally starts to fall around noon, James, Megan and I make our way into the 4 train. We have decided to get out of the Upper East and make our way to Brooklyn, to one of the centers of food world. I know, leaving Manhattan for good food seems like a crime. Dominic DeMarco makes your trip to Midwood, Brooklyn worth the trip, however.
James and I have been planning this excursion for years. Ever since we first heard from our songwriting hero Mike Doughty of his love for Di Fara Pizza, we have always wanted to try it out. The humble pizzeria had grown in our minds over the years to almost mythic proportions. Di Fara is revered both in and outside of the foodie community, especially amongst the pizza cognoscenti, and we felt that we needed to see it ourselves.
But we had always put it off. I mean, Midwood, Brooklyn might as well be on the far side of the moon. It takes forever to get there and the only real highlights even nearby are Brighton Beach or Coney Island. It literally defines the Bowels of Brooklyn. The time had come, however, because recent life events have dictated a move to the West Coast for yours truly (more on that in the afterword to this post) and with Dominic not getting any younger, we finally pulled the trigger.
So, hot, tired, hungover and hungry, we set off. After the change to the Q train at Union Square, it still took another 35 minutes to get to 14th Street and Avenue J in Midwood. As the skies opened up, we could not believe our luck. In this baptismal experience in pizza culture, the massive rains falling over Brooklyn may help keep the crowds down, and keep our waiting to a minimum.
We ran across 15th Street towards the giant "PIZZA" sign noting the small Di Fara outpost. As we burst into the cramped, blazing hot shop, we immediately took notice of the slower pace of life here. The signs on the wall don't lie. It's worth the wait.
After about five minutes, Dominic's assistant took my order: 1 regular cheese pie, to stay. He asked my name. That was the end of our transaction and conversation. He went back to work assisting the great master in his craft, shaving fresh mozzarella, refilling his sauce bowl, bringing new dough out for Dominic to craft his signature dish.
Dominic is clearly a man of advanced age. He is covered head to toe in flour. Bent slightly at the middle of his back from years of reaching and shaping and massaging and punching and spreading and saucing. He uses few tools: one wooden paddle to insert the pie, one metal paddle to remove the pie and serve, a box grater, a fine grater, a ladle, two oil cans, and a pair of scissors. Most important are his hands, worn into prime dough shaping position from more than a half century of work, calloused, burned, arthritic. These are the hands of a grand master, hands that can tell in one touch of the crust if a pie is done, hands that will reach into a 600 degree oven again and again to remove and reshape pies, hands that have the muscle memory and instinct all their own to make a perfect pie.
I watch him, studying him for almost 45 minutes. Finally he starts working on my pizza. He quickly shapes the ball of dough into a thing sheet, slightly oblong rather than circular, and covers it in flour. He then spreads out his own tomato sauce made fresh that day from rich, sweet San Marzano tomatoes. He then reaches for a loaf of fresh mozzarella and his box grater, shaving long, thick slices of the cheese over the pie. A final dose of extra virgin olive oil and the pie loaded onto the wooden plank and shoved into the oven. And the process repeats itself. Over and over and over again. And the line forms anew and more orders are given, and more people wait and watch and ready themselves.
Finally after about 12 minutes the pizza is ready. Dominic reaches into one of the two ovens (he can only cook four pizzas at a time, hence the wait) and grabs the pizza, sometimes with the metal paddle, sometimes with his bare hands and places it on a metal pie pan. He then tops it immediately with finely shaven mozzarella (not fresh, think more like string cheese mozzarella), fresh oregano which he cuts with his scissors and a final dose of olive oil. He asks whose pizza it is, shouting initials or a name written by his sous chef.
You give him your $20 and run to one of the few tables in the little shop. You want so desperately, after waiting what seems like forever in anticipation (in our case, we only waited about 45 minutes or so), to just rip into the beautiful delicious, bubbling, oozing pie. But you control yourself, if only for a moment, knowing that the charred dough and boiling cheese and creamy sauce are still white hot. But you remember, good things come to those who wait.
Finally, you can't control yourself anymore. You tear into the first slice. It is sloppy, gooey, hard to hold or control, even harder to cool down.
But then you taste the work of the grand master and it all melts away.
Pizza is delightfully simple, but when put together in the right way, with the right ingredients it is absolutely the greatest substance ever created by mankind. In Dominic's case, he has found the perfect blend of the ingredients. And his time tested methods and his personal skill and know-how allow him to create the perfect pie.
As James, Megan and I sat, briefly to take in the immensity of wonderful tastes and smells and experiences we had just borne witness to, we were awash in realizations about pizza and life and other things of import. There is no place on Earth like Di Fara. After Dominic is gone, hopefully not for many years, the little, cramped space at 14th and J will fade into the long history of Brooklyn lore, a place lost in time and forever remembered by all those who were there, then. But the memories of a day so long anticipated, and so humbly rewarding will remain forever.
Go to Di Fara for yourself. See the grand master and working class hero work. Smell the air. And yes, taste the pizza. And remember, good things come to those who wait.
---
AFTERWORD
So yes, it has been a while. I have recommitted myself to this blog (famous last words) and intend to write a lot more about the issues we all (read: I) care about (the election, baseball, food and wine). The last couple months have been rough, but I'm happy to say that come the end of June I am off on a new journey in my life, taking up residence in the City by the Bay. Friends on the west coast be advised, and friends elsewhere, come visit anytime!
As the rain finally starts to fall around noon, James, Megan and I make our way into the 4 train. We have decided to get out of the Upper East and make our way to Brooklyn, to one of the centers of food world. I know, leaving Manhattan for good food seems like a crime. Dominic DeMarco makes your trip to Midwood, Brooklyn worth the trip, however.
James and I have been planning this excursion for years. Ever since we first heard from our songwriting hero Mike Doughty of his love for Di Fara Pizza, we have always wanted to try it out. The humble pizzeria had grown in our minds over the years to almost mythic proportions. Di Fara is revered both in and outside of the foodie community, especially amongst the pizza cognoscenti, and we felt that we needed to see it ourselves.
But we had always put it off. I mean, Midwood, Brooklyn might as well be on the far side of the moon. It takes forever to get there and the only real highlights even nearby are Brighton Beach or Coney Island. It literally defines the Bowels of Brooklyn. The time had come, however, because recent life events have dictated a move to the West Coast for yours truly (more on that in the afterword to this post) and with Dominic not getting any younger, we finally pulled the trigger.
So, hot, tired, hungover and hungry, we set off. After the change to the Q train at Union Square, it still took another 35 minutes to get to 14th Street and Avenue J in Midwood. As the skies opened up, we could not believe our luck. In this baptismal experience in pizza culture, the massive rains falling over Brooklyn may help keep the crowds down, and keep our waiting to a minimum.
We ran across 15th Street towards the giant "PIZZA" sign noting the small Di Fara outpost. As we burst into the cramped, blazing hot shop, we immediately took notice of the slower pace of life here. The signs on the wall don't lie. It's worth the wait.
After about five minutes, Dominic's assistant took my order: 1 regular cheese pie, to stay. He asked my name. That was the end of our transaction and conversation. He went back to work assisting the great master in his craft, shaving fresh mozzarella, refilling his sauce bowl, bringing new dough out for Dominic to craft his signature dish.
Dominic is clearly a man of advanced age. He is covered head to toe in flour. Bent slightly at the middle of his back from years of reaching and shaping and massaging and punching and spreading and saucing. He uses few tools: one wooden paddle to insert the pie, one metal paddle to remove the pie and serve, a box grater, a fine grater, a ladle, two oil cans, and a pair of scissors. Most important are his hands, worn into prime dough shaping position from more than a half century of work, calloused, burned, arthritic. These are the hands of a grand master, hands that can tell in one touch of the crust if a pie is done, hands that will reach into a 600 degree oven again and again to remove and reshape pies, hands that have the muscle memory and instinct all their own to make a perfect pie.
I watch him, studying him for almost 45 minutes. Finally he starts working on my pizza. He quickly shapes the ball of dough into a thing sheet, slightly oblong rather than circular, and covers it in flour. He then spreads out his own tomato sauce made fresh that day from rich, sweet San Marzano tomatoes. He then reaches for a loaf of fresh mozzarella and his box grater, shaving long, thick slices of the cheese over the pie. A final dose of extra virgin olive oil and the pie loaded onto the wooden plank and shoved into the oven. And the process repeats itself. Over and over and over again. And the line forms anew and more orders are given, and more people wait and watch and ready themselves.
Finally after about 12 minutes the pizza is ready. Dominic reaches into one of the two ovens (he can only cook four pizzas at a time, hence the wait) and grabs the pizza, sometimes with the metal paddle, sometimes with his bare hands and places it on a metal pie pan. He then tops it immediately with finely shaven mozzarella (not fresh, think more like string cheese mozzarella), fresh oregano which he cuts with his scissors and a final dose of olive oil. He asks whose pizza it is, shouting initials or a name written by his sous chef.
You give him your $20 and run to one of the few tables in the little shop. You want so desperately, after waiting what seems like forever in anticipation (in our case, we only waited about 45 minutes or so), to just rip into the beautiful delicious, bubbling, oozing pie. But you control yourself, if only for a moment, knowing that the charred dough and boiling cheese and creamy sauce are still white hot. But you remember, good things come to those who wait.
Finally, you can't control yourself anymore. You tear into the first slice. It is sloppy, gooey, hard to hold or control, even harder to cool down.
But then you taste the work of the grand master and it all melts away.
Pizza is delightfully simple, but when put together in the right way, with the right ingredients it is absolutely the greatest substance ever created by mankind. In Dominic's case, he has found the perfect blend of the ingredients. And his time tested methods and his personal skill and know-how allow him to create the perfect pie.
As James, Megan and I sat, briefly to take in the immensity of wonderful tastes and smells and experiences we had just borne witness to, we were awash in realizations about pizza and life and other things of import. There is no place on Earth like Di Fara. After Dominic is gone, hopefully not for many years, the little, cramped space at 14th and J will fade into the long history of Brooklyn lore, a place lost in time and forever remembered by all those who were there, then. But the memories of a day so long anticipated, and so humbly rewarding will remain forever.
Go to Di Fara for yourself. See the grand master and working class hero work. Smell the air. And yes, taste the pizza. And remember, good things come to those who wait.
---
AFTERWORD
So yes, it has been a while. I have recommitted myself to this blog (famous last words) and intend to write a lot more about the issues we all (read: I) care about (the election, baseball, food and wine). The last couple months have been rough, but I'm happy to say that come the end of June I am off on a new journey in my life, taking up residence in the City by the Bay. Friends on the west coast be advised, and friends elsewhere, come visit anytime!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Delicious and Nutritious (For The Ears)
I have had today marked on my calendar for a long time. Well, a few months anyway. Today, Mike Doughty finally released his anticipated fourth solo studio album Golden Delicious on ATO Records. Like any good fan, I awoke early and downloaded the album from the iTunes Music Store, and enjoyed a first listen on my iPhone on the way to work.
The Dan Wilson (he of Semisonic...thus answering the question of "Hey, whatever happened to them?") produced album strikes the upbeat tone indicative of Doughty's work to date. Since leaving Soul Coughing, the "neo-jazz" (which was a term, created by music journalists in the late '90s, to describe whatever the hell it was that band was concocting) ensemble which blazed a trail for later artists with albums as diverse and rich in music texture as Ruby Vroom and El Oso, and kicking a heroin addiction which had begun to consume his life and artistic talent, Doughty's work has gotten progressively more happy. As he settles into his middle thirties in his beloved Brooklyn, each of his albums, beginning with Skittish, right up to today's release, have sounded sunnier tones, if the subject matter is still, occasionally, depressive, bordering on morose. Still, "I Wrote a Song About Your Car" would not have been heard from a guy writing "Laundrytown" and "No Peace, Los Angeles" ten years ago.
Is this album Doughty's best effort to date? I believe so. And I like this album for the same reason I liked the movie Juno; it is delightfully uncomplicated. Songs like "Fort Hood" and "Book of Love" are surely thought-provoking, but they are, at the same time, 3 to 5 minute pop songs, bulwarked by Doughty's unassuming yet provocative and singular vocal work. Like Juno, it was a solid work bringing together excellent parts to paint a good story. Subtext and self-importance need not apply here. This album is not Synchronicity or Joshua Tree or even Before These Crowded Streets. But the album stands alone on its merit as a great collection of songs that together weave a story of its time and place, and set the stage for Doughty's solid work to continue for albums to come.
Definitely give an earnest listen to "Fort Hood," Doughty's homage to Iraq soldiers, both suffering and dead, who have not received the devotion and thanks from this country and its citizens for whom they have given so much. "You should still be getting stoned with a prom dress girl/You should still believe in an endless world/You should blast Young Jeezy with your friends in a parking lot" should not be as compelling a lyric as it is, and yet in this time and in this scenario, it rings a deep and profound truth.
And there is something strangely poetic about wanting the girl in the blue dress to keep on dancing. That's pure Doughty, as he said on last weekend's All Things Considered. Assessing the essence of the mess is his very own essence and his wheelhouse. And that's what makes "Blue Dress" the most likable song, along with Put It Down" and "Navigating by the Stars at Night" on this, Mike Doughty's latest slice-of-life vignette of the outskirts of Hipster America.
The Dan Wilson (he of Semisonic...thus answering the question of "Hey, whatever happened to them?") produced album strikes the upbeat tone indicative of Doughty's work to date. Since leaving Soul Coughing, the "neo-jazz" (which was a term, created by music journalists in the late '90s, to describe whatever the hell it was that band was concocting) ensemble which blazed a trail for later artists with albums as diverse and rich in music texture as Ruby Vroom and El Oso, and kicking a heroin addiction which had begun to consume his life and artistic talent, Doughty's work has gotten progressively more happy. As he settles into his middle thirties in his beloved Brooklyn, each of his albums, beginning with Skittish, right up to today's release, have sounded sunnier tones, if the subject matter is still, occasionally, depressive, bordering on morose. Still, "I Wrote a Song About Your Car" would not have been heard from a guy writing "Laundrytown" and "No Peace, Los Angeles" ten years ago.
Is this album Doughty's best effort to date? I believe so. And I like this album for the same reason I liked the movie Juno; it is delightfully uncomplicated. Songs like "Fort Hood" and "Book of Love" are surely thought-provoking, but they are, at the same time, 3 to 5 minute pop songs, bulwarked by Doughty's unassuming yet provocative and singular vocal work. Like Juno, it was a solid work bringing together excellent parts to paint a good story. Subtext and self-importance need not apply here. This album is not Synchronicity or Joshua Tree or even Before These Crowded Streets. But the album stands alone on its merit as a great collection of songs that together weave a story of its time and place, and set the stage for Doughty's solid work to continue for albums to come.
Definitely give an earnest listen to "Fort Hood," Doughty's homage to Iraq soldiers, both suffering and dead, who have not received the devotion and thanks from this country and its citizens for whom they have given so much. "You should still be getting stoned with a prom dress girl/You should still believe in an endless world/You should blast Young Jeezy with your friends in a parking lot" should not be as compelling a lyric as it is, and yet in this time and in this scenario, it rings a deep and profound truth.
And there is something strangely poetic about wanting the girl in the blue dress to keep on dancing. That's pure Doughty, as he said on last weekend's All Things Considered. Assessing the essence of the mess is his very own essence and his wheelhouse. And that's what makes "Blue Dress" the most likable song, along with Put It Down" and "Navigating by the Stars at Night" on this, Mike Doughty's latest slice-of-life vignette of the outskirts of Hipster America.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Best. Campaign Video. Ever.
"Words. Words when spoken out loud for the sake of performance are music. They have rhythm and pitch and timbre and volume. These are the properties of music and music has the ability to find us and move us and lift us up in ways that literal meaning can't." - Jed Bartlet
What strikes me in watching this video of the words of Sen. Obama's Iowa Victory Speech is the message wrapped into the rhythmic cadence of his inspiring oratorio. Here stands a man - with followers neatly in tow - not just asking us to believe in the promise of America again, not simply asking that we dream of the things that never were, but to put our hope into action. To do, as the last frames of the video suggest, to turn our hopes into votes. To work together, in this time of great trial as a nation, to make our nation whole, and united, and strong again. To believe in hope, yes, but moreover to be the change we seek in the world. It is only in hard work, in reconciliation, in trial and triumph that America will be great again.
Let us begin.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Best Thing To Come Out Of Illinois Since Barack Obama
That's right, it's time for Top Chef: Chicago!
Published reports say the Bravo favorite will light the burners for their fourth season on March 12th at 10pm ET. Tom, Ted, Gail and, oh yes, the extra yummy Padma will all be back with a cavalcade of celebrity guest stars (Sadly, we have not, as yet, been advised of a cameo from Bill Swerski's Super Fans, or Wayne and Garth.) as we embark upon another culinary odyssey.
If you want to check out the early favorites for the $100K, Food and Wine spread, awesome vacation and Glad Ware, click on over to YumSugar, who have a slideshow of the new season's contestants.
Now, please pack your knives and go.
Published reports say the Bravo favorite will light the burners for their fourth season on March 12th at 10pm ET. Tom, Ted, Gail and, oh yes, the extra yummy Padma will all be back with a cavalcade of celebrity guest stars (Sadly, we have not, as yet, been advised of a cameo from Bill Swerski's Super Fans, or Wayne and Garth.) as we embark upon another culinary odyssey.
If you want to check out the early favorites for the $100K, Food and Wine spread, awesome vacation and Glad Ware, click on over to YumSugar, who have a slideshow of the new season's contestants.
Now, please pack your knives and go.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Bistro Bis? More Like Bistro F.
I decided, at the behest of my good friend and former campaign roommate Julie, to drop a little honest coin and indulge in Washington's annual Restaurant Week. Ever ambitious, Julie made several reservations in the DC metro area, but we decided on Bistro Bis, which I had heard about through the grapevine as being pretty decent fare. Also, I'm a sucker for solid bistro French food at all times. So we gave it a shot.
First of all, as I was rushed to our table upon entrance, I noticed various empty tables throughout the fairly small restaurant. This probably should have been more ominous, since it's Restaurant Week and you cannot get a reservation anywhere in the District, but I sloughed it off, chalking it up to Wednesday night. As it turns out, the absentees knew more than I did.
I quickly ordered a glass of the special South African Cabernet from Wellington, which was actually quite decent. It also turned out to be the high point.
35 minutes later, our waitress finally appeared ready to take our order. In the intervening time Julie and I got catch up and I got to have a drink. Oh, this might be a good time to mention the other absentees: the waitstaff. It took twenty minutes to get water (bread would take ANOTHER 20) and finally - mercifully - we got to put in orders.
Julie ordered the moules grenobloises, trout special and chocolate toffee bread pudding. I chose a more traditional bistro route with onion soup les halles, cote de porc and chocolate roulade. The appetizers were passable though often forgettable. My soup was overpowered by brandy in the broth and it was, inexcusably, served lukewarm. (It's French Onion Soup, for Christ's sake.) Julie's mussels were nice, but oversized for an appetizer. The main course was where the meal totally lost its luster. Julie's trout looked decent enough - I admit I didn't try it - but my pork chop was completely lifeless. And to make it worse, it was covered in some kind of ridiculous, flavor-retardant barbecue sauce without any starch on the plate.
You know what guys? i know it's restaurant week, but stop treating us like cheap rubes. I mean, Jesus, this is not New York, it's Washington. Getting people in the door for haute cuisine is enough of a struggle, don't make those of us trying to enjoy an experience like this on short money feel stupid for having chose you. Have the common decency to do the little things, despite the drop in price. It's bistro food. I demand potatoes. Not a lot, just a taste, something interesting maybe. But at least something. Not a half empty plate. If you're working in DC, and you're not Michel Richard or Jose Andres, get over yourself and fill plates. And if you're pushing half empty plates at a bistro, that's borderline insane.
And in any case, don't lose a perfectly good medium rare pork chop in barbecue sauce.
Dessert was hit and miss. Julie's chocolate toffee was a good effort, and tasty, if non-inventive. My roulade was flat and nearly bereft of chocolate, though the berries left a pleasant brightness on the palate. All in all, I've soured on the restaurant week experience. If DC restaurants are all like Bistro Bis, people will continue to forcefeed themselves overpriced steaks at Sam and Harry's and the Palm and the food scene here will die.
Restuarant Week or not, however, skip Bistro Bis.
First of all, as I was rushed to our table upon entrance, I noticed various empty tables throughout the fairly small restaurant. This probably should have been more ominous, since it's Restaurant Week and you cannot get a reservation anywhere in the District, but I sloughed it off, chalking it up to Wednesday night. As it turns out, the absentees knew more than I did.
I quickly ordered a glass of the special South African Cabernet from Wellington, which was actually quite decent. It also turned out to be the high point.
35 minutes later, our waitress finally appeared ready to take our order. In the intervening time Julie and I got catch up and I got to have a drink. Oh, this might be a good time to mention the other absentees: the waitstaff. It took twenty minutes to get water (bread would take ANOTHER 20) and finally - mercifully - we got to put in orders.
Julie ordered the moules grenobloises, trout special and chocolate toffee bread pudding. I chose a more traditional bistro route with onion soup les halles, cote de porc and chocolate roulade. The appetizers were passable though often forgettable. My soup was overpowered by brandy in the broth and it was, inexcusably, served lukewarm. (It's French Onion Soup, for Christ's sake.) Julie's mussels were nice, but oversized for an appetizer. The main course was where the meal totally lost its luster. Julie's trout looked decent enough - I admit I didn't try it - but my pork chop was completely lifeless. And to make it worse, it was covered in some kind of ridiculous, flavor-retardant barbecue sauce without any starch on the plate.
You know what guys? i know it's restaurant week, but stop treating us like cheap rubes. I mean, Jesus, this is not New York, it's Washington. Getting people in the door for haute cuisine is enough of a struggle, don't make those of us trying to enjoy an experience like this on short money feel stupid for having chose you. Have the common decency to do the little things, despite the drop in price. It's bistro food. I demand potatoes. Not a lot, just a taste, something interesting maybe. But at least something. Not a half empty plate. If you're working in DC, and you're not Michel Richard or Jose Andres, get over yourself and fill plates. And if you're pushing half empty plates at a bistro, that's borderline insane.
And in any case, don't lose a perfectly good medium rare pork chop in barbecue sauce.
Dessert was hit and miss. Julie's chocolate toffee was a good effort, and tasty, if non-inventive. My roulade was flat and nearly bereft of chocolate, though the berries left a pleasant brightness on the palate. All in all, I've soured on the restaurant week experience. If DC restaurants are all like Bistro Bis, people will continue to forcefeed themselves overpriced steaks at Sam and Harry's and the Palm and the food scene here will die.
Restuarant Week or not, however, skip Bistro Bis.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
You're Not Wrong, Walter, You're Just Illiterate
Quite the barnburner last night in the Granite State.
Hillary Clinton went from being clinically dead (at least according to known feminist Chris Matthews) at 6pm to the "frontrunner for the Democratic nomination" by Midnight.
That actually happened. And while I believe all of those far-off prognostications about as far I can throw Hillary Clinton, we have been taught in American politics these days to expect the expected, that pollsters have gotten so good at what they do that they could never be wrong and that whatever they feed the mainstream media must be correct, because they got it right once or twice before. And the media, largely lacking the ability to use critical thinking and decipher what polls actually mean, report polling numbers as facts and then get pissed off when that's not the whole story, and legions of them look foolish on national television.
But the problem with both of those memes is that even a casual observer of the American political process would have known by 8:15 last night that something wasn't right. Actually, scratch that, anyone with an eighth grade education (or your typical New Hampshire primary voter) who can use a calculator would tell you that 40+30+15=85. By the best estimates, 15% of voters were undecided when they walked into the polls last night, and that's if you only look at the numbers. (And don't bother telling me "Oh you forgot about Kucinich." I didn't forget about Kucinich, we just all wish he forgot about us. Lunatic. Honest to God, he already talks about aliens, if he starts talking nude conspiracies, he and Lyndon Larouche are going to run on the Looney Tune ticket.)
This situation also reminds us why tracking polls are crack for the weak. When there are only about 100 hours from the results being announced in Iowa until people started voting in New Hampshire, no pollster worth his weight whatever they were feeding the media all day yesterday would tell you that all bets were off. And then, when you factor in at least two huge events happening in an 18-hour span (the debate and Hillary's odd, salty discharge moment [non-sexual division]) history will take over.
See, people in New Hampshire are regarded as "private" people. They may actually just be "ridiculous" people but any way you slice it, they openly lie to pollsters in a vain attempt to try and get them off their backs. We go through this every four years: New Hampshireites (New Hampshirians?) are oversaturated with campaign materiel, candidates, pollsters, pundits and toast and egg breakfasts at diners, and they get hostile, wanting everyone to leave town, and thinking they never will. So they lie. They lie to staffers. They lie to pollsters. They lie to whoever will listen to their insane rants about their "problems" (Word to the wise, the only problems you have in New Hampshire are not enough NASCAR and too much snow and it was 65 degrees yesterday and the race is probably coming up, so shove it). They claim, despondently, that they just want to be left in peace. Then they vote and we all figure out that they were lying all along and we leave and talk about them for about 24 more hours and then we move on to the other 48 states and the real issues facing the nation.
And then, two years from now, New Hampshire will demand to know where we all have gone and invite all the politicians and pundits and pollsters and gentrified media types back for toast and eggs and demand that we fawn over these hardworking Americans facing down their withering past in a new American century. And for some reason, we oblige them.
And we are left with one simple, incontrovertible fact: That as the sun rises through the snowdrifts of Dover and Portsmouth on primary day and sets over the desolate hellscape of Keene on the evening of primary day, two-thirds of New Hampshire voters, whether they tell you or not, whether they know better or not, whether they care or not, will go to the polls (after eating their toast and eggs, of course) and stand in a booth, furrowing their brows in a vain attempt to understand and THAT IS WHEN THEY MAKE A DECISION.
These are people that make swing voters look like decisive party boosters. These are people who sling coffee and eat toast and eggs and yearn for simpler time when their lack of understanding and cultural diversity seemed to fit in Wonder Bread America.
These people are New Hampshire, for better or worse. And someday, people in politics will understand them. And run far, far away.
[/rant]
---
And yes, thank you, it is good to be back.
Hillary Clinton went from being clinically dead (at least according to known feminist Chris Matthews) at 6pm to the "frontrunner for the Democratic nomination" by Midnight.
That actually happened. And while I believe all of those far-off prognostications about as far I can throw Hillary Clinton, we have been taught in American politics these days to expect the expected, that pollsters have gotten so good at what they do that they could never be wrong and that whatever they feed the mainstream media must be correct, because they got it right once or twice before. And the media, largely lacking the ability to use critical thinking and decipher what polls actually mean, report polling numbers as facts and then get pissed off when that's not the whole story, and legions of them look foolish on national television.
But the problem with both of those memes is that even a casual observer of the American political process would have known by 8:15 last night that something wasn't right. Actually, scratch that, anyone with an eighth grade education (or your typical New Hampshire primary voter) who can use a calculator would tell you that 40+30+15=85. By the best estimates, 15% of voters were undecided when they walked into the polls last night, and that's if you only look at the numbers. (And don't bother telling me "Oh you forgot about Kucinich." I didn't forget about Kucinich, we just all wish he forgot about us. Lunatic. Honest to God, he already talks about aliens, if he starts talking nude conspiracies, he and Lyndon Larouche are going to run on the Looney Tune ticket.)
This situation also reminds us why tracking polls are crack for the weak. When there are only about 100 hours from the results being announced in Iowa until people started voting in New Hampshire, no pollster worth his weight whatever they were feeding the media all day yesterday would tell you that all bets were off. And then, when you factor in at least two huge events happening in an 18-hour span (the debate and Hillary's odd, salty discharge moment [non-sexual division]) history will take over.
See, people in New Hampshire are regarded as "private" people. They may actually just be "ridiculous" people but any way you slice it, they openly lie to pollsters in a vain attempt to try and get them off their backs. We go through this every four years: New Hampshireites (New Hampshirians?) are oversaturated with campaign materiel, candidates, pollsters, pundits and toast and egg breakfasts at diners, and they get hostile, wanting everyone to leave town, and thinking they never will. So they lie. They lie to staffers. They lie to pollsters. They lie to whoever will listen to their insane rants about their "problems" (Word to the wise, the only problems you have in New Hampshire are not enough NASCAR and too much snow and it was 65 degrees yesterday and the race is probably coming up, so shove it). They claim, despondently, that they just want to be left in peace. Then they vote and we all figure out that they were lying all along and we leave and talk about them for about 24 more hours and then we move on to the other 48 states and the real issues facing the nation.
And then, two years from now, New Hampshire will demand to know where we all have gone and invite all the politicians and pundits and pollsters and gentrified media types back for toast and eggs and demand that we fawn over these hardworking Americans facing down their withering past in a new American century. And for some reason, we oblige them.
And we are left with one simple, incontrovertible fact: That as the sun rises through the snowdrifts of Dover and Portsmouth on primary day and sets over the desolate hellscape of Keene on the evening of primary day, two-thirds of New Hampshire voters, whether they tell you or not, whether they know better or not, whether they care or not, will go to the polls (after eating their toast and eggs, of course) and stand in a booth, furrowing their brows in a vain attempt to understand and THAT IS WHEN THEY MAKE A DECISION.
These are people that make swing voters look like decisive party boosters. These are people who sling coffee and eat toast and eggs and yearn for simpler time when their lack of understanding and cultural diversity seemed to fit in Wonder Bread America.
These people are New Hampshire, for better or worse. And someday, people in politics will understand them. And run far, far away.
[/rant]
---
And yes, thank you, it is good to be back.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
There They Go Again
As I finished up this week's episode of Boston Legal on the TiVo at around 8:58, I decided I would catch the last couple minutes of Olbermann on MSNBC. He was talking about the latest nonsense coming out of the Britney Spears camp, which would be mildly amusing if small children weren't involved. Usually, when he throws his paper and talks it being the 1,659th day or whatever since President Bush declared Mission Accomplished in Iraq, that's when I find something else somewhere up the dial. Instead, tonight, I hung on for the first couple minutes of Dan Abrams' show. He was talking about Judith Regan and a lawsuit filed against NewsCorp, accusing Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes, among others, of telling Regan to lie under oath about her illicit relationship with disgraced former New York Police Commish and Homeland Security nominee Bernie Kerik. Kerik and Regan, of course, had an affair after 9/11, and on several occasions may have consummated that relationship in a Lower Manhattan flat dedicated to hosting relief workers working at Ground Zero.
Now, generally this story is one marked for Page 6 in the Post. However, what we have here may actually be quite insidious. Why would Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes go out of their way to defend Bernard Kerik? Might it be, as Abrams alleged, some kind plot to protect Giuliani as he moves towards his date with the cast of the bad reality show we call the GOP Primary process?
We need look no further than what was airing at the same time on Fox News. I thought perhaps they'd be running the latest political intrigue with the Democratic primaries, or some ridiculous story about another lost suburban white girl, or something just as idiotic. Instead, what they were running was not just repulsive, it validated all parts of Dan Abrams' argument. At the EXACT SAME TIME MSNBC was running a story talking about Fox "News" may be covertly - perhaps even overtly - supporting one candidate for the Presidency, Hannity and Colmes (I was going to write a joke here, but I'm pretty sure it writes itself) was broadcasting a program-length commercial for Rudy Giuliani, starring his new best friend, Conservative ninny Pat Robertson.
The tagline running under Robertson's loathsome visage actually talked of him "discussing his endorsement of Giuliani."
Let me try to say this in plain terms: A purported news outlet is currently allowing an avowed misogynistic bigot to discuss his idealistic defense of a three-time philanderer with whom he shares no political views in order to drum up support for his campaign.
We have to be left to wonder, what took us so long for us all to catch on?
Now, generally this story is one marked for Page 6 in the Post. However, what we have here may actually be quite insidious. Why would Rupert Murdoch and Roger Ailes go out of their way to defend Bernard Kerik? Might it be, as Abrams alleged, some kind plot to protect Giuliani as he moves towards his date with the cast of the bad reality show we call the GOP Primary process?
We need look no further than what was airing at the same time on Fox News. I thought perhaps they'd be running the latest political intrigue with the Democratic primaries, or some ridiculous story about another lost suburban white girl, or something just as idiotic. Instead, what they were running was not just repulsive, it validated all parts of Dan Abrams' argument. At the EXACT SAME TIME MSNBC was running a story talking about Fox "News" may be covertly - perhaps even overtly - supporting one candidate for the Presidency, Hannity and Colmes (I was going to write a joke here, but I'm pretty sure it writes itself) was broadcasting a program-length commercial for Rudy Giuliani, starring his new best friend, Conservative ninny Pat Robertson.
The tagline running under Robertson's loathsome visage actually talked of him "discussing his endorsement of Giuliani."
Let me try to say this in plain terms: A purported news outlet is currently allowing an avowed misogynistic bigot to discuss his idealistic defense of a three-time philanderer with whom he shares no political views in order to drum up support for his campaign.
We have to be left to wonder, what took us so long for us all to catch on?
Monday, November 05, 2007
All Your Sport Are Belong To Us
It's a great day to be alive in America. I've walked into my office each morning for about the last three weeks saying that. It is simply amazing to see what is happening in the city of Boston right now. It figures, of course, that it all starts clicking as soon as I leave, by the way. I guess I can never move back.
What the Patriots did yesterday moved them into the pantheon of great NFL teams. Teams like the Cowboys of the early 1990s, the 49ers of the 1980s or the Steelers of the 1970s. They are approaching immortality. They are approaching that rarified air that few teams ever reach, the immortality that is born of special teams. Teams like the '67 Packers, or the '85 Bears, or, of course the best of them all, the 1972 Miami Dolphins. What we all are watching is simply amazing. Tom Brady's season, barring an unthinkable injury, will go down as the best in NFL history. At the rate he's going, he will surpass Peyton Manning shortly after Thanksgiving. It is a treat to watch, and anyone who thinks otherwise, despite all of the ridiculous "Spygate" musings, just does not truly appreciate football. He is making a case that he may not just be having the best year of any quarterback in history, he may just be the best skill player in NFL history.
By the way, in case we forgot, the Celtics look like world beaters, and the Red Sox won the World Series last week. I'm told the Bruins are playing hockey at a high level, but I think we're all willing to accept that pro hockey isn't even a sport anymore. And sorry, but BC were WAY overrated even before they got whupped by Florida State. That said, there can only be one reaction when we take into account all these wonderful happenings:
Somebody set us up the bomb.
Indeed.
What the Patriots did yesterday moved them into the pantheon of great NFL teams. Teams like the Cowboys of the early 1990s, the 49ers of the 1980s or the Steelers of the 1970s. They are approaching immortality. They are approaching that rarified air that few teams ever reach, the immortality that is born of special teams. Teams like the '67 Packers, or the '85 Bears, or, of course the best of them all, the 1972 Miami Dolphins. What we all are watching is simply amazing. Tom Brady's season, barring an unthinkable injury, will go down as the best in NFL history. At the rate he's going, he will surpass Peyton Manning shortly after Thanksgiving. It is a treat to watch, and anyone who thinks otherwise, despite all of the ridiculous "Spygate" musings, just does not truly appreciate football. He is making a case that he may not just be having the best year of any quarterback in history, he may just be the best skill player in NFL history.
By the way, in case we forgot, the Celtics look like world beaters, and the Red Sox won the World Series last week. I'm told the Bruins are playing hockey at a high level, but I think we're all willing to accept that pro hockey isn't even a sport anymore. And sorry, but BC were WAY overrated even before they got whupped by Florida State. That said, there can only be one reaction when we take into account all these wonderful happenings:
Somebody set us up the bomb.
Indeed.
Monday, October 22, 2007
In The Land Where Champions Roam
This must be a dream.
Some kind of twisted fantasy land where things go right in Boston. Where the Red Sox ascend to the American League Pennant with minimal hardship. Where the Patriots slough off would-be contenders with the greatest of ease. Where the Celtics can go from cellar dwellers to an all-start team in the course of a summer.
Yes, it is a magical time to be in Boston.
That's why I'm glad I was back this weekend. I stopped up here for Carnival, Year Up's big national fundraiser, and got to hang on to witness an incredible weekend in Boston. The air seems lighter here, not only because of the global warming-inspired heat wave that's taken hold over New England, but because that pall of fear that usually hangs over us at this time of year has long since dissipated. The excitement gripping this city, this region has us all pinching ourselves.
The Red Sox are on the brink, as one newscaster put it last night, of making sure it won't be another damned 86 years. There has never, in my lifetime, been a Red Sox team as good as this one. The 2004 squad will always be in our hearts, bu they were a rag tag bunch of idiots who knew how, when and where to get hot and end all the misery. There were times during last night's game that the Sox' despatching of the Indians looked almost clinical. Teams that win championships have a new hero every night. Last night, we had the much-maligned (for the last week or so) Dustin Pedroia step up and give his answer to why he should. by any reasoning, be the Rookie of the Year. And we had Jonathan Papelbon come in and slam the door in the 8th in a situation in which we desperately needed to right the ship. This team is the best to ever wear the uniform, a fact that will be proven over the course of the next few days between Boston and Denver.
And the New England Patriots? What can we even say about them that hasn't already been said. They are one of those special teams in NFL history already and it's only Week 7. They will be mentioned in the annals of history, certainly with the '85 Bears and the 1980s 49ers and Cowboys. But the 1972 Dolphins, a team unmatched in sport, much less only in football, will need a certain amount of luck if they are to have their champagne party again this year. In two weeks, we should have our answer. If the Patriots beat the Colts, they will almost certainly be unstoppable. No one else on the schedule should provide any measure of competition to a team playing at the level of the Patriots. If Tom Brady had not already cemented his place in Canton, he is doing it this season. As I watched him slice and dice the Miami secondary yesterday, I couldn't even think of another quarterback who made it look so easy, so effortless. Not even Joe Montana in his prime could do what Brady did. Not Dan Marino. Not Johnny Unitas. Tom Brady is not just the greatest quarterback of his generation anymore. We may be watching the highlight reel of the NFL's greatest ever quarterback.
It's good to be home.
Some kind of twisted fantasy land where things go right in Boston. Where the Red Sox ascend to the American League Pennant with minimal hardship. Where the Patriots slough off would-be contenders with the greatest of ease. Where the Celtics can go from cellar dwellers to an all-start team in the course of a summer.
Yes, it is a magical time to be in Boston.
That's why I'm glad I was back this weekend. I stopped up here for Carnival, Year Up's big national fundraiser, and got to hang on to witness an incredible weekend in Boston. The air seems lighter here, not only because of the global warming-inspired heat wave that's taken hold over New England, but because that pall of fear that usually hangs over us at this time of year has long since dissipated. The excitement gripping this city, this region has us all pinching ourselves.
The Red Sox are on the brink, as one newscaster put it last night, of making sure it won't be another damned 86 years. There has never, in my lifetime, been a Red Sox team as good as this one. The 2004 squad will always be in our hearts, bu they were a rag tag bunch of idiots who knew how, when and where to get hot and end all the misery. There were times during last night's game that the Sox' despatching of the Indians looked almost clinical. Teams that win championships have a new hero every night. Last night, we had the much-maligned (for the last week or so) Dustin Pedroia step up and give his answer to why he should. by any reasoning, be the Rookie of the Year. And we had Jonathan Papelbon come in and slam the door in the 8th in a situation in which we desperately needed to right the ship. This team is the best to ever wear the uniform, a fact that will be proven over the course of the next few days between Boston and Denver.
And the New England Patriots? What can we even say about them that hasn't already been said. They are one of those special teams in NFL history already and it's only Week 7. They will be mentioned in the annals of history, certainly with the '85 Bears and the 1980s 49ers and Cowboys. But the 1972 Dolphins, a team unmatched in sport, much less only in football, will need a certain amount of luck if they are to have their champagne party again this year. In two weeks, we should have our answer. If the Patriots beat the Colts, they will almost certainly be unstoppable. No one else on the schedule should provide any measure of competition to a team playing at the level of the Patriots. If Tom Brady had not already cemented his place in Canton, he is doing it this season. As I watched him slice and dice the Miami secondary yesterday, I couldn't even think of another quarterback who made it look so easy, so effortless. Not even Joe Montana in his prime could do what Brady did. Not Dan Marino. Not Johnny Unitas. Tom Brady is not just the greatest quarterback of his generation anymore. We may be watching the highlight reel of the NFL's greatest ever quarterback.
It's good to be home.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Mystique, Aura, Gang Colors
Why is it that no part of this new report surprises me in the slightest?
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,294409,00.html
Actually, I take that back. The only thing that surprised me is that Yankee paraphernalia wasn't already considered gang colors.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,294409,00.html
Actually, I take that back. The only thing that surprised me is that Yankee paraphernalia wasn't already considered gang colors.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Coast
I finally get it.
For years, literally years, people have been telling me to experience Northern California. "You'll love San Francisco if you love Boston," they said. "If you like LA you will be blown away by the North coast." And other things like that. I finally got sick of hearing it all, and I went to check it out for myself. Luckily, I also finally got the excuse with Megan's family headed out for the wedding of her Aunt Erin. So last Friday night Meggie and I boarded a JetBlue flight at Kennedy Airport bound for San Jose. For the next nine days, I had some of the coolest experiences I've had in the US. Here is just a taste.
You Can Find Me In The Cove
From the moment I saw it, walking towards the park on the Embarcadero, I knew AT&T Park was going to be for me. Now, of course, there is no place in the world like Fenway. It is the ultimate cathedral to baseball. If you don't know this by now, then you are just not paying attention. However, teams of late have been building markedly better stadia throughout the major leagues. I've been to a few of the new generation parks, Jacobs Field and Camden Yards among others, and while they are definite improvements, surely the Park at 24 Willie Mays Plaza must be the crown jewel. It is straight out of the old school. Despite the fact that our group tickets were in the third deck, I felt almost on top of the action. Not that there was a whole lot of action going on between the Giants and Pirates, but still, I felt close to the players and the game. We Red Sox fans are spoiled rotten these days, because we get 81 days a year where we get to see our boys play in those hallowed grounds. But if I ever had to choose another place to watch 81 games a year, AT&T Park would be it.
Wild World
I never made it to the Wild Coast of South Africa. I will certainly have to see it when I go back, but for now, the Mendocino coastline will have be a placeholder. It is a truly wild, rough place. As Highway 1 cuts north, slicing its way along the coastline, the vistas and ruggedness become ever more pronounced. The Mendocino headlands, in Mendocino village, a quaint seaside community for ex-hippie burnouts and, as it happened, "Murder, She Wrote" fans (it was filmed there), were the best part. An underground maze of caves and grottoes, punctuated by cliffs and beachheads, the headlands are a wonderful place to wile away the lazy afternoons hours, getting a chance to see what the California coast has looked like for centuries. And yes, even we indoor kids can enjoy it.
Foodie Paradise
I always loved going to Cooperstown when I was young. It was a monument to the game of baseball which had become a huge part of my life even in my youth. So it was no surprise that I got an analogous feeling as I arrived at COPIA - the Center for Food, Wine and the Arts, in Napa, CA. Eating in Julia Child's kitchen, the flavors I had recognized from my youth permeated throughout the air, as the wondrous smells wafted in from the open kitchen. My mom learned to cook while she nursed me, watching Saint Julia on PBS when I went down for my afternoon nap. And as we passed through the courses - Curried Summer Squash Bisque, Flatiron Steak with Garlic Smashed Potatoes, and Bing Cherry Strudel - I could almost hear the sharp tones of Julia's well-worn old New England voice lilting through those aromas, making the most elegant and decadent food accessible to us all. After lunch, I got to see exactly just how much of a playground COPIA could be. I stopped off at the Wine Spectator Tasting Center and did their "Judgment of Paris" tasting - a tribute to the famed 1976 Paris Tasting, in which I got to experience both Stag's Leap Artemis and Chateau Montelena Chard, both worth the price of admission. Then we wrapped up our visit, walking through the Edible Garden, taking in the different tastes and smells as the open-air pantry excited all the senses simultaneously in a veritable sensual orgy of foodgasm. A perfect, leisurely end to a wonderful visit to the monument for food.
Love, California Style
From the town that inspired Alfred Hitchcock's masterwork "The Birds," I got the chance to experience possibly the most beautiful wedding in the most beautiful setting you could ever conceive. How's that for an image? Nestled snuggly on the northern rim of Monterey Bay, the Monarch Cove Inn provided a veritable Shangri-La for the celebration of Megan's aunt, Erin, and the man who has become the love of her life, Ralph, and their commitment to each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I haven't gone all soft on you or anything. But I think you know enough about me by now that despite my tendencies towards sarcasm and cynicism, at heart I am an old hopeless romantic. And I believe in the power of love. Never before has that been feeling been more palpable in one time and one place than on that breezy Saturday afternoon. The setting sure helped, as did Ralph's signature "Swimming Naked" drink - and the 7 of them I drank (Ask for the recipe, it's pretty much the best beverage I've ever tasted. Ever. Including beer.). But the high point, and the one that slayed just about everybody was the expression of love in the couple's vows. Most times, people writing their own vows end up sounding like Rachel McAdams' sailor sister in Wedding Crashers, or Homer Simpson - "in richness and in poorness, in times when flying monkeys..." - in a word, hokey. But love flowed in the words Erin and Ralph shared with each other. As with everything else on Saturday, it was an exactly perfect microcosmic representation of their lives together. And in those words, and in that moment, in that perfect place and time, they created an everlasting bond with each other, and between both of their families and for the new family they will build in the coming years, and one that I am privileged to which I am honored to have borne witness.
We had lots of great experiences. The above are just a few selections. I owe a great debt of gratitude to the entire Bentley family for the experience. And I invite you to check out more pictures on Facebook for more from the California Odyssey.
For years, literally years, people have been telling me to experience Northern California. "You'll love San Francisco if you love Boston," they said. "If you like LA you will be blown away by the North coast." And other things like that. I finally got sick of hearing it all, and I went to check it out for myself. Luckily, I also finally got the excuse with Megan's family headed out for the wedding of her Aunt Erin. So last Friday night Meggie and I boarded a JetBlue flight at Kennedy Airport bound for San Jose. For the next nine days, I had some of the coolest experiences I've had in the US. Here is just a taste.
You Can Find Me In The Cove
From the moment I saw it, walking towards the park on the Embarcadero, I knew AT&T Park was going to be for me. Now, of course, there is no place in the world like Fenway. It is the ultimate cathedral to baseball. If you don't know this by now, then you are just not paying attention. However, teams of late have been building markedly better stadia throughout the major leagues. I've been to a few of the new generation parks, Jacobs Field and Camden Yards among others, and while they are definite improvements, surely the Park at 24 Willie Mays Plaza must be the crown jewel. It is straight out of the old school. Despite the fact that our group tickets were in the third deck, I felt almost on top of the action. Not that there was a whole lot of action going on between the Giants and Pirates, but still, I felt close to the players and the game. We Red Sox fans are spoiled rotten these days, because we get 81 days a year where we get to see our boys play in those hallowed grounds. But if I ever had to choose another place to watch 81 games a year, AT&T Park would be it.
Wild World
I never made it to the Wild Coast of South Africa. I will certainly have to see it when I go back, but for now, the Mendocino coastline will have be a placeholder. It is a truly wild, rough place. As Highway 1 cuts north, slicing its way along the coastline, the vistas and ruggedness become ever more pronounced. The Mendocino headlands, in Mendocino village, a quaint seaside community for ex-hippie burnouts and, as it happened, "Murder, She Wrote" fans (it was filmed there), were the best part. An underground maze of caves and grottoes, punctuated by cliffs and beachheads, the headlands are a wonderful place to wile away the lazy afternoons hours, getting a chance to see what the California coast has looked like for centuries. And yes, even we indoor kids can enjoy it.
Foodie Paradise
I always loved going to Cooperstown when I was young. It was a monument to the game of baseball which had become a huge part of my life even in my youth. So it was no surprise that I got an analogous feeling as I arrived at COPIA - the Center for Food, Wine and the Arts, in Napa, CA. Eating in Julia Child's kitchen, the flavors I had recognized from my youth permeated throughout the air, as the wondrous smells wafted in from the open kitchen. My mom learned to cook while she nursed me, watching Saint Julia on PBS when I went down for my afternoon nap. And as we passed through the courses - Curried Summer Squash Bisque, Flatiron Steak with Garlic Smashed Potatoes, and Bing Cherry Strudel - I could almost hear the sharp tones of Julia's well-worn old New England voice lilting through those aromas, making the most elegant and decadent food accessible to us all. After lunch, I got to see exactly just how much of a playground COPIA could be. I stopped off at the Wine Spectator Tasting Center and did their "Judgment of Paris" tasting - a tribute to the famed 1976 Paris Tasting, in which I got to experience both Stag's Leap Artemis and Chateau Montelena Chard, both worth the price of admission. Then we wrapped up our visit, walking through the Edible Garden, taking in the different tastes and smells as the open-air pantry excited all the senses simultaneously in a veritable sensual orgy of foodgasm. A perfect, leisurely end to a wonderful visit to the monument for food.
Love, California Style
From the town that inspired Alfred Hitchcock's masterwork "The Birds," I got the chance to experience possibly the most beautiful wedding in the most beautiful setting you could ever conceive. How's that for an image? Nestled snuggly on the northern rim of Monterey Bay, the Monarch Cove Inn provided a veritable Shangri-La for the celebration of Megan's aunt, Erin, and the man who has become the love of her life, Ralph, and their commitment to each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I haven't gone all soft on you or anything. But I think you know enough about me by now that despite my tendencies towards sarcasm and cynicism, at heart I am an old hopeless romantic. And I believe in the power of love. Never before has that been feeling been more palpable in one time and one place than on that breezy Saturday afternoon. The setting sure helped, as did Ralph's signature "Swimming Naked" drink - and the 7 of them I drank (Ask for the recipe, it's pretty much the best beverage I've ever tasted. Ever. Including beer.). But the high point, and the one that slayed just about everybody was the expression of love in the couple's vows. Most times, people writing their own vows end up sounding like Rachel McAdams' sailor sister in Wedding Crashers, or Homer Simpson - "in richness and in poorness, in times when flying monkeys..." - in a word, hokey. But love flowed in the words Erin and Ralph shared with each other. As with everything else on Saturday, it was an exactly perfect microcosmic representation of their lives together. And in those words, and in that moment, in that perfect place and time, they created an everlasting bond with each other, and between both of their families and for the new family they will build in the coming years, and one that I am privileged to which I am honored to have borne witness.
We had lots of great experiences. The above are just a few selections. I owe a great debt of gratitude to the entire Bentley family for the experience. And I invite you to check out more pictures on Facebook for more from the California Odyssey.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
New Digs
The intarnets, as we all know, are a series of tubes. And on these tubes is carried information. In some cases, that information takes pictographical form. Here follows some pictures, specifically of my new room in my apartment in Crystal City, Virginia. (Note: If you're reading this on Facebook, the images will probably not push to the RSS feed. Click over to the proper blog to see them.)
Here's my new bed.
But, more importantly, here is my entertainment pavilion.
Anyway, it's a big room in a really nice apartment with my wonderful new roommates, James and Cynthia, in a very swank high-rise building in the heart of Crystal City. I'm excited! Also, you should probably make plans to come visit me soon. I like company.
Here's my new bed.
But, more importantly, here is my entertainment pavilion.
Anyway, it's a big room in a really nice apartment with my wonderful new roommates, James and Cynthia, in a very swank high-rise building in the heart of Crystal City. I'm excited! Also, you should probably make plans to come visit me soon. I like company.
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