A Little Evidence of the Class “Disconnect”

Remember all the stories about George H.W. Bush (i.e., “big George”) expressing absolute astonishment at a demonstration of an everyday barcode scanner (sure, the stories were largely apocryphal, but stick with me here)? Or the inability of Al Gore to determine the price of a loaf of bread? What these stories drove home was the disconnect between the privileged classes and those of us who actually have to do our own chores.

I heard another one this morning that gave me a little chuckle; oh, not as dramatic as those two, but amusing nonetheless. I was listening to WTOP news radio this morning, and meteorologist Doug Hill (who also covers the weather for WJLA television) came on to discuss today’s rather gloomy weather. Basically, we’re experiencing some drizzle in parts, but nothing substantive enough to show up on weather radar.

Here’s how he prefaced his comments (and I’m paraphrasing a bit): “People are saying, ‘Hey, my windshield wipers are coming on. What’s going on here?’”

Now, I like Doug Hill. Particularly on the radio, he comes off as knowledgeable, credible, and quite funny. And I’m sure he’s compensated well for his job — nothing wrong with that. More power to him.

But I’ve got a bit of news for you, Doug: Most folks don’t have cars where the wipers come on automatically.

Just in Case You Ever Doubted That Military and Business Interests Overlapped

As if we weren’t doing enough to alienate the rest of the world, what say we start betting on whether or not various world powers will be overthrown. “Gee, sorry, we’d love to offer you aid, but the futures market on your government isn’t looking too promising.”

Looks like even Satan himself couldn’t pull this one off...

The Inmates Are Truly Running the Asylum... I Mean, the House

I’m starting to wonder again how much I’d be willing to put up with that Canadian cold. I’ll give it until November 2004, but I seriously can’t imagine putting up with anything more beyond that — particularly since my ire for the legislative branch of our government is rapidly starting to rival that which I normally reserve for the executive.

As many of you may be aware, a recent appeals court ruling in Alabama established that a monument depicting the Ten Commandments was unconstitutional. An argument has been made that preexisting depictions of the Ten Commandments would not violate the Constitutional doctrine of separation between church and state (i.e., the “Establishment Clause”), falling under what (since 1963) has been termed “ceremonial deism,” or religious observances which hold meaning more traditional than theological. Common examples include the national motto “In God We Trust,” the courtroom oath “so help me, God,” and the prayers opening Congressional sessions (thanks to the Ninth Circuit’s recent ruling, the “under God” phrase in the Pledge of Allegiance is still open for debate). The argument’s a crock of shit, but it at least advances a consistent, defensible point; to put it another way, I’ll happily claim the argument is stupid, but I’d never insinuate that those who make it are not completely intelligent, rational people — we merely have a (substantial) difference of interpretation.

This particular case, however, is completely different. The monument in question was not a long-existing one, but one recently erected with the explicitly professed purpose of promoting the Christian vision of God. It was designed by none other than Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Roy Moore, who still bizarrely maintains that he is not bound by federal law. Boy, that’s a pretty nice exemption — wish I could pull that one off.

Okay, so this guy’s an idiot. No question there — the world’s full of ’em. But just when we think we’ve found the biggest buffoon on the planet, the U.S. House of Representatives shows that they can put up a bigger idiot than any old fool from Alabama. Perhaps trying to compete with Ways and Means Committee chairman Bill Thomas in the über-idiot department, John Hostettler has spearheaded a measure to prohibit enforcement of the 11th Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals ruling barring the monument, by denying any and all funding that could be used to enforce such a ruling. If his measure were simply to suspend enforcement until the U.S. Supreme Court could review the case, I might be inclined to cut him a little slack. But in his own statement, Hostettler maintains that should the Supreme Court’s decision concur with the 11th Circuit’s, he’ll continue to deny enforcement funding.

For some reason, I thought we’d gotten rid of self-righteous assholes like this decades ago, but I guess we’re still having to deal with them. The capper, of course, is that the House passed the measure, 260-161, proving that Hostettler isn’t the only idiot in there — he’s just their spokesmonkey this time around.

Now, lest anyone think I’m letting the executive branch off the hook, I’ll draw attention to today’s Post story about the infamous “Lackawanna Six,” the six men arrested in New York for allegedly attending an al Qaeda training camp in Afghanistan. Were the six really an al Qaeda “sleeper cell,” as the government claimed? Quite possibly — though I automatically doubt it, since, after all, the claim is coming from the government. But whatever the case, we’ll never get a chance to see what evidence the secret police have managed to accumulate (I’ll refrain from using the word “manufacture” — oops, too late), since the six were strong-armed into making guilty pleas under the implicit (please!) threat of being designated “enemy combatants” and removed from access to lawyers and the court system altogether.

I’ll make no claim as to the innocence of the men in question; there’s certainly a strong possibility that they were exactly what the government claimed. But let’s look at the pattern this regime has now established: The executive branch will hereby bypass the judicial branch of government altogether. A case not going the way we want? Not guaranteed a full conviction? We don’t actually have any substantive evidence against a United States citizen? We’ll just invoke a flagrantly unconstitutional “rule” and designate the targets of our ire “enemy combatants” — a designation which, by the way, has no basis in either American or international law — and revoke all of their rights, trying them before a military tribunal where they have effectively no possibility of defending themselves. Little George’s gestapo has already — illegally — stuck two Americans with this label, Jose Padilla and Yaser Esam Hamdi, and again, I’ll make no claims as to their innocence. But without allowing an opportunity for the presentation of evidence — both prosecutorial and defensive — there is absolutely nothing to prevent this from happening to anyone, under any pretext; there is no accountability whatsoever. Where is the line to be drawn between questioning the government and working to overthrow it? When do words and thoughts become criminal conspiracy? Historically, it’s been at the moment when concrete action is taken toward a criminal goal. But as the Lackawanna case has now demonstrated, the line is wherever John Ashcroft decides it is.

So where does this leave folks like me? Okay, granted, I’m a little “small potatoes” for DOJ to worry about (right now), but let’s think about it. I routinely rant against the evils of the Bush regime. I’m all in favor of its ouster. Hell, I’ve got a list of folks (well, not actually written down) whose incarceration and/or “shuffling off of the mortal coil” will inspire me to throw a party (though it’s worth noting that little George is not on that list — since his departure would leave Dick Cheney in charge). Under the new code of government conduct, I — despite having taken no illegal action, or even concrete action or incitement toward an illegal goal — could just as easily be designated an “enemy combatant.”

I’ve no doubt that history will remember John Ashcroft in the same breath as Joe McCarthy. But how far is this regime going to go, how many people are going to suffer, and how blind are people going to remain in the meantime?

Orwell’s Legacy

Last month, Glenn Frankel of the Post’s Foreign Service bureau ran an article commemorating what would have been George Orwell’s 100th birthday. The gist of the article (which, alas, is no longer available for perusal on the Post’s site) was that as remarkable and influential as Orwell was, he still had his share of blind spots. As a particular point of note, the article admonishes us that, after all, 1984 was nothing like 1984.

Yesterday, I watched Michael Radford’s film version of 1984, which generated a reasonable buzz around its release based on the fact that it was filmed in London during the exact time frame envisioned by Orwell in the original novel. In looking back, that makes for an interesting footnote, but hardly does justice to the quality of the film itself. The performances — including the last by Richard Burton — are gripping, the screenplay is thorough without becoming incomprehensible, and the production design is nothing short of astonishing. Radford’s world uses strictly 1940’s-era technology, with no attempt at speculative futurism.

I’m actually surprised that I’ve waited this long to watch the film again, but it seems more relevant now than ever. Thoughtcrime has become “terrorist sympathy.” Big Brother has become Total Information Awareness. The state of constant war, with the inexplicable shifting of enemies from Eurasia to East Asia, remains exactly as is, with only the names changed to Afghanistan and Iraq. The Ministry of Love is alive and well at Guantanamo Bay.

Perhaps 1984 wasn’t quite like 1984. Orwell was merely off by a couple of decades.

Give the People What They Want... or Maybe Not

Part of the beauty of weblogs is that I don’t have to plan my writing out too coherently. I can ramble on and on before making my point. So sit tight — I do have a point to today’s entry, but I’m gonna take my own sweet time getting there.

My wife hates Christmas lists. The way she sees it — and I find it tough to argue with this one — is that lists limit gift choices to a narrow set of preselected items. She’s a little more tolerant of registries, but only in that they allow the gift giver to ensure that, say, a particular china pattern will match what the recipient already has (even so, she’s more likely to avoid the china altogether). And with the types of celebrations registries are traditionally associated with, there’s often a little more distance between the parties, making gift choices more difficult (there’s a whole rant to be made here about the recent proliferation of registries, but we’ll save that for another day).

My parents, on the other hand, insist on wish lists. While I do spend a good deal of time with them — one advantage of living nearby — their interests and mine are frequently... shall we say, divergent. We don’t have a lot of shared activities, making it more of a hurdle to think of appropriate gifts.

I suppose the problem with such lists is that they boil down to giving someone what they want, rather than what they could really use. Or perhaps more accurately, what they say they want, rather than what — in the larger scheme — they really want. You see this mentality in the political arena all the time — long gone are the days when a politician will risk making an unpopular but necessary choice, and we’re left with staggering deficits and head-in-the-sand attitudes toward anything resembling long-term consequences. But nowhere is this obsession with catering to professed wants more prevalent than in the entertainment industry. Witness the homogenization — and subsequent necrosis — of music radio. Local stations — which need to capture a substantial portion of a market in order to generate enough advertising revenue to stay afloat — started catering to the output of focus groups and market researchers, and any programming originality or creativity went out the window. That’s supposedly the argument that satellite radio marketers are making: More stations, broadcast nationally, can afford to develop “niche” markets (though they have yet to produce a viable business model).

Of course, by deviating from the expressed wishes of the market you wish to serve, you run the risk of going completely off base, not to mention transferring your own preferences onto others — I can just picture some self-righteous right-winger imagining I’d enjoy the Left Behind series, for example. In the gift department, my father-in-law has a tendency toward gifts that don’t quite meld with the recipient’s desires — ten points for originality, but a substantially lower score in terms of present appropriateness. In the entertainment department, well, George Lucas gave us Jar-Jar.

Which brings us to one of the most vocal — and often least valuable — segments of the moviegoing population: The fanboys. The group that screams that the X-Men film franchise should run indefinitely. That we really do need to see an Indiana Jones 4. That — forget the acting — the Star Wars films just need more action, and more Boba Fett. That the talkback feature of Ain’t-It-Cool News is the greatest thing since... well, Ain’t-It-Cool News itself.

Now, the problem isn’t that these people — and, to be fair, I can’t deny at least a tangential connection to them — are expressing their wishes. Nor is it that their wishes lack creative (let alone commercial) viability — though it seems those instances are all too often few and far between. But those wishes belong to a small — if vocal — minority of the population. So in giving those opinions too much credence, one runs the risk not only of catering too much to popular opinion, but also of catering to the wrong opinion. Not as much of a problem if you’re specifically targeting that audience, but disastrous if you’re also trying to garner critical or popular appeal.

And it’s in that light that I’d like to comment on a new short film that’s sweeping the fanboy circuit: Batman: Dead End (see, I told you I had a point). Now this isn’t an official Warner Brothers offering, but a short film that a group of professional filmmakers put together to showcase their talents. As such, they can’t sell it, and even their free distribution options are limited — you’re not going to find it at your local video store, but you may be able to track down a copy on the Internet. The filmmakers’ expressed intent — at least according to what I’ve been able to determine through the filters of the fanboy legions — was to correct what was wrong with the various “official” treatments of the Batman character. Gone is the rubber suit of Tim Burton’s version. Gone is the overtly homosexual imagery of Joel Schumacher’s (not to mention the ’60s “camp” style). The production design is reminiscent of the (justifiably) popular artwork of comic artist Alex Ross. The Joker is not subject to Jack Nicholson’s wry, laconic interpretation, but the hypermanic villian of such comics as Alan Moore’s seminal Batman: The Killing Joke.

In truth, the filmmakers — led by writer/director Sandy Collora — have done an admirable job in their “correction,” as far as that goes. And there really are some remarkable images — both in terms of production design and cinematography. But throughout the piece, there is a feeling of catering to the fanboy audience. There’s no character development to speak of; the piece is one long action sequence (without even a real conclusion). The acting is serviceable, but not remarkable. There’s a credulity-stretching twist featuring... well, I won’t spoil it, but here’s a vague little hint. And for such an action-centric film, the action sequences are frustratingly routine. The whole piece is oriented toward the visuals — as one might expect from the character’s comic-book origins (well, and the designer origins of the production team) — but it constantly feels as if the filmmakers were thinking, “What would the fanboys want to see here?”

Don’t get me wrong — the picture is impressive, and I got a real kick out of it. But to think — as the fanboy pundits would have us believe — that the Batman franchise would be saved were Warner Brothers only to make their movie just like this (let’s ignore the licensing problems Dead End introduces — you’ll understand when you see it) is ridiculous. Not that the Warner suits have a creative bone in their collective bodies, but they do have at least a basic understanding of market realities. Yeah, the fanboys might go see something like this, but the rest of the world sure wouldn’t. I do think there are things to be learned from this treatment (pay attention, Christopher Nolan), but let’s not get carried away, or we’ll have another Final Fantasy on our hands.

And nobody wants that.

Another Irrational Discordian Holiday Circles Around

Happy Pi Approximation Day, everyone! Celebrate as you will.

The Inescapable Choice: Useful Idiot or Manipulative Liar

Between preparations for a big, in-house meeting and play rehearsals, I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t been able to spend time with my family, let alone make snide comments on recent news events. To be honest, though, I suppose there’s not much new I’d have to offer that I haven’t said before: The Bush regime routinely distorted or ignored both intelligence information and threat assessments that didn’t support the case for war, Duh-bya’s proceeding to bankrupt the country to favor his billionaire buds, the right-wingers are trying to turn the District into an abbatoir, and the Republican party is determined to cement its power (apparently, in the most insipidly childish manner possible) in a police state. Business as usual.

Richard Cohen does have an interesting piece in today’s Post, though. In it, he speculates that Bush isn’t a liar after all, but is rather what Lenin termed a “useful idiot,” one who believes what he’s told wholeheartedly, without bothering to think for himself. While I’ve no doubt that on the whole, Bush does fall into that category — being manipulated ruthlessly by the likes of Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Wolfowitz — I can’t quite support the notion that he’s not a liar, particularly after (as noted in an amusingly accurate letter to the editor) his patently false assertions of July 14 (after a meeting with U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan), in which he claimed that the war began only after he gave Saddam “a chance to let the inspectors in, and he wouldn’t let them in.” Call it “revisionist history” if you will, but a lie’s a lie.

Still, just for the sake of argument, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Even so, the neofascists are going to have to make a choice: Either he’s a deliberate liar, or he’s an idiot. They can’t have it both ways.

Hang on, that’s not too clear: I mean they can’t claim he’s neither a liar nor an idiot. I’m perfectly willing to entertain the notion that he’s both.

And The Show Goes On

Well, the months... okay, weeks... well, more like five days of rehearsal have finally paid off. Our first two performances went great — just two more to go. Frankly, it’s a little weird to be halfway through our run already.

The not-so-subtle hint here is that if you didn’t get to this past weekend’s shows, you’ve got one more chance... well, really two more chances: Saturday and Sunday. So come one, come all, and watch me exercise my Shatneresque acting skills! Shows start at 8:00 at the Cedar Lane Stage!

The New Inkblots Is Finally Live

After an oh-too-long absence from the ’net sphere, I am proud to announce that Inkblots Magazine returns today. The daily publication experiment kind of fell by the wayside, but I’d much rather live with quarterly publication (or thereabout) than none at all.

As an added bonus, this issue features a critique of Citizen Kane by yours truly. Read and enjoy!

What a Real Leader Sounds Like

I had the good fortune of listening to Tony Blair’s speech before Congress this afternoon, and whoa! If ever someone made little George appear a staggering buffoon, this is he. Where Duh-bya has trouble with words beyond the vocabulary of a fourth grader (like, say, “nuclear”), Blair isn’t afraid to make appropriate use of the language — without straying into condescension. Where Bush can’t display any emotional range beyond indignant rage, Blair effortlessly injects humor into his presentation. Where the occupant of the oval office makes me embarrassed to proclaim American citizenship, the resident of 10 Downing Street inspires me to stand a little taller.

And, perhaps most significantly, where Bush remains steadfast in his infallibility — no matter what the evidence to the contrary — Blair is at least willing to admit the possibility of error. I may disagree with the decisions he made — rather vociferously — but I can respect his position, and believe that he’s at least thought about the actions and their consequences.

My aversion to rain and fog (not to mention the difficulties in immigrating to the UK) have largely ruled out England as a destination for my fancied expatriate days — London lies along the same parallel as Vancouver — but is there any way we can get this guy to spend more time over here?

So This Is How Idiots Backpedal...

“O, what a tangled web we weave,/When first we practice to deceive!” — Walter Scott, 1808

And the lies keep mounting...

At this point it’s becoming less and less significant whether or not Saddam Hussein actually had a nuclear weapons program; to little George, the evidence was irrelevant. Saddam was evil, and therefore he must have had them. Facts be damned. There have been a few fantastic op-ed columns in the Post across the past couple of days. Two in this morning’s edition, “Inconvenient Facts...,” by Harold Meyerson, and ...Unshakable Faith, by Richard Cohen, do a fantastic job of analyzing just what the hell’s going on in Duh-bya’s monomaniacally dogmatic brain. I’d consider both must-reads, so I won’t rehash them here (please do take the time to read them yourselves).

I also won’t go into too much detail on Michael Kinsley’s column yesterday, “...Or More Lies From The Usual Suspects?” but I will call attention to one intriguing point. Bush’s latest claim — that the information may have been false, but his now-infamous State of the Union statement, “The British Government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently sought significant quantities of uranium from Africa,” remains true; he’s just saying those pesky Brits thought it was true, he didn’t say it was true, heh, heh, heh. If ever there were a prime example of CYA thinking, this is it — he knew he was stretching the truth, and chose his words carefully to edge just out of outright “lie” territory. But unfortunately, his linguistic skills are proving as substandard as his ethical integrity: If he’d said the Brits believed the information, he’d be correct in saying the statement was factual, but by saying they learned the information, he is necessarily implying that the information itself is factual and can be learned.

This guy just keeps getting himself in deeper — at least with those of us with the capacity for reason — and doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

The Triumphant Return of William R. Coughlan, Thespian

Okay, maybe not triumphant, really, but at least up there. After much deliberation (i.e., procrastination), I’ll be returning to the stage after more than a decade’s absence, in this weekend’s Cedar Lane Stage Summer Sampler program. It’s an assortment of one-act plays, and I’ll be performing in Superhero, written by Mark Harvey Levine and directed by the Advisory Board’s own Nello DeBlasio.

I’m looking at this as sort of theater production meets sitcom production — less because it’s a light comedy than that we’ve basically got one week to get this thing ready to go up. Not that only one week was allotted for rehearsals, but... well... we didn’t get started as early as some might have hoped. Still, it’s a cute, funny little play, and if anyone’s interested, be sure to come by. Performances are Saturday and Sunday evenings at 8:00, this weekend and next (i.e., the 19th, 20th, 26th, and 27th), and tickets are just $5.00.

I could sure use a few friendly faces in the audience.

Vacation Wrapup

Upon seeing this sign, I couldn’t help but wonder: What exactly are the “Thunder Hole Restrooms” and what makes them significant enough to include on a sign? Are we talking about an outhouse with an embarassingly loud echo?

One realization I had this past week was that the Unites States’ greatest asset may not be its Constitution, its military superiority, or its wealth, but its geography. I’ve advised Pam that if I ever go off on one of my angry rants about moving to Canada, she should just say one word: “Maine.” As two days of rainy, foggy weather — in a large house with no heating save for one working fireplace — proved, North equals Cold.

We did make the best of the remainder of our trip, but saw little of the sun until the day of our departure. On Friday, we drove the Park Loop Road, we shopped in Bar Harbor, we got a look at Thunder Hole (for which, I discovered, the restrooms are apparently only a sideline). Friday, with fog replacing the rain, my brother and I climbed the Beehive, we all took another nature hike, visited the Bass Harbor Lighthouse, drove to the top of Cadillac Mountain, and had a very pleasant dinner at the Colonel’s Bakery and Restaurant — after being snubbed by an exceedingly arrogant “big-fish-in-a-litle-pond” manager at the Burning Tree. Afterward, we caught a water taxi for our last trip back to Sutton Island through nearly impenetrable fog; it’s hard to imagine what they did in the days before radar and GPS tracking — except for the omnipresent lobster-trap markers, we could have been in the middle of the Atlantic.

For the return trip, we opted to stick to the highways, and made much better time to Portland — especially given our later-than-planned departure time. The return flight was uneventful, and by dusk we wearily staggered into our home... to find the air conditioner on the fritz.

I just can’t catch a break in that whole temperature arena...

Adding Another Celebration to the List

Happy Bastille Day, everybody! Not that I’ve ever celebrated it before — well, I at least recognized back when I was minoring in French at W&M — but with all of the anti-French sentiment running throughout the benighted masses out there, I felt an irresitsable urge to celebrate all things Gallic.

Well, and after having visited New York, I’m less convinced that French people are the rudest on the planet.

Island Time

My brother warned me that it’d be a pain in the ass to get here, but I really hadn’t given too much credence to his claims. Sure we had to get the girls up at 5:00 am to make our flight, but the flight itself left on time, the transfer in Philly went well, and the second leg actually arrived early. Picking up the rental car went well, and we were on the road. Four hours and several frayed tempers later, and we finally arrived at our destination.

The first sign of trouble (or at least concern) was the drizzly rain — the last thing you want to see on your first day of vacation. Still, we didn’t even know if the Bar Harbor area was in the same weather system as Portland, so we soldiered on. Shortly thereafter, though, we realized that the directions we’d been given — three different sets, none of which matched — had poorly prepared us for what lay ahead. One thing that surprised me was the lack of adequate signage. After ending up on the wrong highway, at no point were there any signs indicating what lay ahead, or how far ahead those places might be, making decision-making (i.e., keep going or turn around) exceedingly difficult; Brenda was sorely missed. We debated following the directions that kept us on the highways as long as possible versus the set(s) that took us on some of the more rural — but more scenic — routes. Figuring we had plenty of time, we chose one of the latter.

Yes, we got to see a lot more of the beautiful Maine countryside. But on the other hand, we were frequently stuck behind annoyingly slow people. Maybe this is one of the things I’ve gotten accustomed to by living in a relatively urbanized region, but I tend to believe that routinely driving at ten miles below the speed limit — or worse, varying randomly between ten over and ten under — is not acceptable driving behavior. Especially when you’re on winding roads with no possibility of passing. Well, no possibility the way most people drive — I managed to find a few opportunities. And I only ran one person off the road. Seriously.

In the end, we managed to get the rental car returned (though not with a full tank of gas —where do the people here fill up their cars?), meet up with my brother and his family, have a quick drink in Northeast Harbor (one of our delays had resulting from my misconception that Northeast Harbor was a simple harbor, like Seal Harbor, as opposed to a small harbor town with no visible signage directing you to the actual harbor), and (having seriously missed our initial ferry appointment) catch a later ferry to the island.

The house is pretty damned big. It’s actually got nine bedrooms (though three aren’t made up), and though it’s clearly very old, it’s been refitted with most modern amenities (primarily phone, electricity, and running water). The girls got a kick out of running around and picking which rooms would be theirs for the stay. After unpacking, we still had time to cook out hamburgers and spend a nice evening out on the wraparound patio enjoying the scenery, the skies having cleared completely.

Today, our first full day here, we went to the mainland (or technically, the larger island, Mt. Desert Island), went on a nature hike and spent some time at Echo Lake, where my sister-in-law and I climbed to the top of Beech Cliff — a moderately strenuous climb, but I don’t mean to imply that it was really mountain climbing. Still, the view was absolutely spectacular — and I made sure to call down via cell phone to Pam and my brother on the beach below, so they could look up and see us.

We wrapped up the evening with fresh lobster at Southwest Harbor (delicious, though awkward explaining to the girls what happened between when they saw the lobsters skittering around on the scale and when we ate them) and caught a private water taxi home, after which everyone went to bed. Well, except me, as I wanted to jot down my recap before I forgot all about it. That done, though, I think I’ll turn in myself. No promises about future island entries, as I sincerely hope to be keeping myself pretty busy.

I’m Back! Well, the ’Blog Is Anyway — I’m Off to Maine

Well, whaddaya know — looks like the folks at Blogger have fixed everything. So catch up on some old news, and I’ll blather on some more once I get back!

A Healthy Sampling of Materials

As a rule, I’m not a big fan of “sampling” other artists’ work. In the first place, as a matter of at least initial impression, the sampler appears to be taking credit for someone else’s work — I still remember a coworker being amazed upon hearing Patrice Rushen’s “Forget Me Nots,” never realizing that the music wasn’t created for Will Smith’s “Men in Black.” More significantly, however, the result is usually crap that demeans the artistic value of the original.

There are exceptions, of course, instances where the artistic contribution of the new creation does merit favorable consideration; just sticking within the realm of music, I’m particularly fond of Everclear’s “AM Radio,” which freely samples Jean Knight’s “Mr. Big Stuff.” And the other day — brought to my attention by an article in the Post — I found another one.

Micah Wright is taking old, World War II-era propaganda posters and recasting them in light of the current War on Freedom. Oh, I’m sorry, the War on Terrorism. And oh, my god, some of them are dead-on. I immediately went and ordered his book (a compilation of the posters) as well as a few other items. At the very least, I urge everyone to take a look at his Propaganda Remix Project. And if you want to start copying and mass-posting some of the book images (which he actually encourages), I’d be all the happier.

So go already — what are you sitting around here for?

Oh, and if you’re coming back from that little sojourn, I’m on my way out the door again tomorrow, this time up to Maine for a little family vacation on Sutton Island, off the coast of Bar Harbor. I’ll be back next week — though given Blogger’s publishing problems, I’d be willing to bet you’re reading this well after I’ve returned.

In which case, I had a great time, and the lobster was delicious.

A Bang-Up Fourth

I think we’ve well established my lack of patriotic fervor right around now, but still, Pam wanted to take the girls to see a real fireworks show (as opposed to the fairly low-key backyard variety my folks usually put together). Fair enough — I figure the kids will get a kick out of it, and I’m by no means anti-American (both of the girls have pretty much got the Preamble to the Constitution down, thanks to Schoolhouse Rock). Given the anticipated difficulty in getting to the downtown fireworks display, and the hassle of dealing with shuttle buses to see even the local Fairfax display, we thought we’d try heading out to Manassas Park.

Fair warning: I’m about to start sounding elitist here, but sometimes, I just can’t help it.

I’m not about to suggest that all — or probably even most — of the residents of Manassas Park are a couple of rungs down on the evolutionary ladder, but there was certainly a representative sampling of them in evidence (the fact that the town’s City Hall resembles a corrugated-metal warehouse probably doesn’t help either). I don’t know, maybe these types of events really bring out the trailer park crowd, but I couldn’t help noticing we were surrounded by the kind of folks who helped little George steal the 2000 presidential election, who think he’s doing a bang-up job, ’cause we gotta show them Ay-rabs what fer; after all, we need to get Saddam and them Eye-rackeys for what they did on 9-11. I don’t know that I really hate country music (which was prominently featured in last night’s festivities), but I seriously dislike the kind of people country music attracts.

A (more than slightly intoxicated) friend once said to me, “How does it feel to know you’re the intellectual superior of everyone in the room.” At the time, it was clear he was exaggerating (well, at least a bit). Last night, though, I thought of an answer for him: Frankly, it’s a little off-putting. To a degree, it made me question my political outlook. I mean, why should I concern myself with the needs of folks who readily accept what this right-wing regime is doing to them, who gladly say, “Great job, George! Need me to bend over a little farther? No problem!”

And then I sit back and remember that even were I to think in purely selfish terms, I’ve got to stick to my guns. In the past, I may have been in an income bracket that, on average, came out ahead under the Republican economic philosophy, but not so under Bush — after all, I’m not a billionaire. I may not be getting screwed as much as these poor saps, but I’m still getting screwed. Add that to little George’s deliberate lies and Ashcroft’s destruction of anything resembling civil rights in this country, and my convictions are renewed.

I don’t know what I’ll end up doing a few years from now, but at least for the moment, I’m gonna keep squawking.

Busy, Busy, Busy

Not a lot of time to chat today — I’m in the middle of a tightly packed shooting day for one of the three videos we’ve got to get produced this month (actually four, if you count the one that we just signed in). So far, all is going well (though I’m concerned about audio capture in a few instances — we may have to try “looping” some dialogue next week), and we’ve even managed to work around the rain that botched up some of our planned outdoor shooting.

Alas, we’ve as yet been unable to tape our “special guest” — and while our client is still convinced it’ll happen, I’m a little wary. After all, the script from which we’re working pretty much depends on having that guest’s appearance as the “punch line.” And to tell the truth, I’ll be a little disappointed if we have to shoot that appearance after next Tuesday — since in that case, I’ll have to assign Adam and Ginny to do the taping. I’m sure they’d do a fine job, but what upsets me is that I won’t get to meet the guest myself (I hate repeatedly referring to him as just “the guest,” but I’m not quite ready to let the cat out of the bag — at least not here).

Hey, I know the finished product’s the most important thing, but I think I’m allowed a little unadulterated self-interest.

Well, gotta get back to work — lots more shooting to go.

Off-Line for Longer Than I’d Anticipated

Okay, so I’d fully planned on being out of contact for about a week there. Alas, it turns out that during my absence, Blogger went ahead and introduced a whole new interface for ’blog entry and management — which they’ve rather simply dubbed “New Blogger.” They’d actually been rolling it out for the last month or so, but have finally gotten around to transferring my ’blog over. First impressions are pretty good: It’s certainly simpler, more intuitive, and — most impressive — it works under Safari (just in time for that browser’s official 1.0 release).

Unfortunately, there appears to be one rather significant bug...

IT DOESN’T ACTUALLY WORK.

I’d call that a pretty crucial oversight. When I publish my ’blog... oh, I don’t know, but I kind of expect it to actually get published. Right now, I can post to my heart’s content, but the actual page is stuck at June 24th. New Blogger says it’s publishing just fine, but as near as I can tell, it’s basically just lying. And so far, no response — at all — from Blogger’s support team; the issue has been “logged,” but nobody’s even taken a look at the support request yet. I may not be paying a lot for this service, but I am paying for it.

I also suspect the RSS feed is hosed — in that they’ve actually taken away some of the capability to manipulate the settings there — but I won’t know for sure until I get the basic publishing issue resolved. So I’m figuring about double the as-yet-indefinite service time before that’s fixed.

I had recently signed up (and been accepted) as a beta tester for the new TypePad service, Six Apart’s ’blog hosting arrangement based on the Movable Type platform. Unfortunately, the beta-testing period has overlapped with a combination of my vacation time and a pretty serious work crunch, so I haven’t been able to do a whole lot to try it out. But given that this New Blogger is starting to sound a lot like “New Coke,” I think I’m gonna have to start looking at it a lot closer.

In the meantime, it looks like folks will be reading my entries — this one included — substantially later than I’m actually writing them. And I can’t decide if it’s better to hold off on writing, or just post and let them be published... whenever. Particularly problematic in that I’ll be taking another week’s absence next week.

Of course, by the time anyone reads this, I suppose the answer will be evident.