11.13.2011
Number Two
Re-Up take... what?
10.12.2011
Poem
“A Love Song to New York”
10.03.2011
Occupy Rockford
9.22.2011
Not One More Troy Davis
Georgia murdered Troy Davis last night despite legitimate doubts about his guilt. That isn't justice; it's vengeance. Retribution. Revenge. It doesn't bring the victim's family anything but the fleeting satisfaction of seeing another dead man. It doesn't bring them justice -- and if Davis is innocent, it puts them at a further remove from justice, as the state is far less likely to pursue other suspects now that Davis is dead. The death penalty is revenge that accomplishes nothing other than murdering someone, and enough of those someones are either innocent or have questions surrounding their guilt to make it what it is: barbaric. The death penalty is barbaric. It's the kind of thing you see Ned Stark do because Ned Stark would have existed 700 years ago were he real and if he lived on earth.
The death penalty must end. Republicans can laugh all they want about the state -- federal or individual states -- letting people die or actually murdering them, but this is a fight we're going to win. A lot of people had their eyes opened last night about how unjust this antiquated and barbaric institution is; some of them might even be willing to fight. It's insane that in 21st-century America, it's a "left" thing to be against the death penalty.
Here's what the ACLU has to say about the death penalty:
"The U.S.'s capital punishment process:
(1) is fraught with error;
(2) discriminates on the basis of socioeconomic status, race, and geography;
(3) is arbitrary and capricious, including its use against the mentally ill and defendants who did not kill anyone and did not intend that anyone be killed;
(4) costs taxpayers far more than life imprisonment without release;
(5) does nothing to protect people from crime;
(6) seriously harms the survivors of homicide victims;
(7) is plagued by cheap legal representation - the worst, not the best, of American lawyering; and
(8) greatly diminishes the worldwide stature of the United States and its ability to work to end human rights violations in other countries."
This cannot continue a single day longer. No more Troy Davises.
The Campaign to End the Death Penalty is an excellent resource for this, but it comes down to being active and demanding that your state representatives end this travesty in your state. I don't think the conservative Supreme Court will act on it any time soon, so it's a state-by-state fight.
Cross-posted at www.destructiveanachronism.blogspot.com
9.21.2011
Troy Davis Again
You can't. Take. It. Back. There are many documented cases of individuals who have been proven innocent after being executed. There are many more cases of alleged criminals being found innocent after having been convicted for non-executable crimes. If you put a convict to death who later turns out to be innocent, you're complicit in murder, the crime for which you put the alleged convict to death. That means you -- judge, officer, witness whoever are a murderer. Doesn't that irony seem poignant? The standard of evidence used to convict individuals in the United States criminal court system is "beyond a reasonable doubt," and I believe the number is considered 95% certainty. Could you kill a woman or man if there's a 5% chance she or he is innocent? I couldn't. Because if you're wrong state of Georgia, that's not the sort of thing you can ever make right. You kill someone and it's final; you can't bring them back, you can't console their loved ones.
As I wrote on Daily Kos yesterday, I don't know if Davis is guilty or not. But there are just too many questions to murder him without a new trial. Killing someone isn't something you just do. In my opinion it's not something you should ever do, but if you're going to, you have to be 100% certain. Not 95%, not a shoulder-shrug "meh, maybe," but absolutely certain. In Davis's case, that's not the case.
9.20.2011
9.17.2011
9.16.2011
Ah Our Happy Times
Obligatory Cubs Post
Aramis Ramírez went 3-for-5 with a walk, a strikeout, and his first triple of 2011. After a shaky start, he's now hitting .310/.364/.514 with 25 HR and 91 RBI. Solid glove at third. Career now, he's .284/.342/.500. Since coming over from the Pirates in 2003, he's been the Cubs' most reliable hitter by far (with a hat-tip to the departed Derrek Lee). And at Wrigley, he's out of his mind, going .336/.398/.596 this season and .308/.374/.553 with 124 HR and 438 RBI during his career (all stats courtesy of baseball-reference.com). He's at 23.9 WAR in his time with the Cubs with four seasons with an OPS+ at or above 130 and seven of nine with an OPS+ above 120.
Is he a Hall of Famer?
I think so. No he's not at, nor ever will be at Mike Schmidt status. I doubt anyone ever will be. And is Ramírez a Hall of Famer now? No. But he's 33, playing on a bad team, with the option of moving to a contender after this next season (as a Cubs fan, I pray he won't, but were I GM -- and I should be Tom Ricketts!) -- I would have dealt him at the deadline for some very good prospects. In any case. Let's say he has three good years somewhere near this level left in him, with a few more after declining or in a more limited role. Even playing for the Cubs and discounting that they might get better (not holding my breath) or that he might move to a team where he has some protection in the lineup or could even prolong his career as a DH, you figure he could well end up around some 450 HR and over 1500 RBI for sure. Steady glove, team leader, plays the hot corner well. Even accounting for his career OPS declining below .841 (and discounting for his early Pirate years playing for terrible teams) and career OPS+ of 114 (which is admittedly not Hall-worthy, but again, considering his Cubs years) dropping to say 110, he's still an intriguing candidate, especially as a mostly post-steroid era player.
That last point is important. Ramírez's breakout year was in 2001 with the Pirates in the foul heart of the steroid era, but his best production has been 2004-since, largely in the era of increased vigilance on the part of the MLB and fan distaste for the likes of Barry Bonds's prolate spheroidical head.
I submit that Aramis Ramírez will be worthy of a Hall of Fame induction when he retires. Will he get there? I don't know and I doubt it. The folks who make those calls seem to be coming around to advanced statistics, and it depends on Ramírez continuing to produce at the level he has consistently for the last nine years in Chicago. I think he'll end up with a very worthy case though, provided voters take into account the shitty teams he's played for and the fact that he's played his entire career at third. In any case -- and no doubt about this one -- he's a Cubs Hall of Famer for sure.
9.14.2011
Terry Castle on Outside Art
I had never heard of Henry Darger, Martín Ramírez, Adolf Wölfli, et al, but damn am I glad I did, and Castle raises enough questions about contemporary art, the nature of meaning, and intentionality vis-a-vis a hypothetical audience to keep one busy for months.
9.13.2011
Saving Books by Making Them More Expensive?
9.11.2011
Some Thoughts (Not Comprehensive, but Based Around Making the Mistake of Turning on my Television This Morning) on 09.11
Nor -- before the first tower had collapsed (I'm tearing up just thinking about it), watching the tower collapse on TV and seeing my hard-ass (but in I'm going to be a dick to you fucking kids but here for you day and night, in the classroom or out of it) AP US history teacher break down and in a tear-stained voice say, to no one in particular, "Oh my God. Nothing will ever be the same." Watching in complete disbelief, calling my father the second on leaving school just to let him know that I was all right, because the aftermath, who knew? It was the seminal moment of my life, and in the life of anyone affected by it -- essentially every American, Iraqi, Afghani, Pakistani, and what ever other nationality I left out that who've we've been fucking for the last decade. Shit last century.
Trust, no one forgets.
I'm going to spend it like I do every 09.11, remembering those who lost their lives that day, thinking of the insane courage of those incredible first-responders (I would have completely shat myself in their place), spending the one day a year I don't want to see George W. Bush in handcuffs (doesn't apply to Cheney), thanking our troops, mourning the ones that have fallen or been wounded in several meaningless wars launched on false premises thanks to 09.11, and remembering the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and Afghanis and Pakistanis who are dead thanks to those wars. It's a solemn day, and even when I'm 70 (who the fuck am I kidding? If I last 45 years, it'll be a small miracle) I'll remember it and those who suffered and suffer loss on it.
What I won't do is go anywhere near the mainstream media's "magic number that ends in a 5 or a 0" (because unsurprisingly, counting is not something they do well) daylong 09.11-a-thon. Cause if you think those surgically-enhanced millionaires give a shit about the victims of 09.11, you're nuttier than Osama bin Laden thinking he could fuck with New Yorkers and expect not to get face-fucked (literally, that did happen). I'm not going to indulge in the entertainment industry's (yeah mainstream media, that includes you) one day per year of giving a fuck about 09.11 victims, survivors, first-responders, police, fire, our soldiers etc. I'm not going to indulge in professional sports' continuing jingoistic idolatry of the military and their grandstanding of 09.11.
Sports might be the worst offenders on this count. I mean what company even fucking makes American flags the size of Texas for these military circle-jerks? Apparently a shitload of companies. I guess I can buy a "Heavy-Duty Poly" 40'-75' edition (I have no idea what that means) from "Flag Center" in nearby Wauwatosa, Wis. for just $5,100. I'd have to be missing grey matter to do it, but at least I know the option's out there. I'm not impressed by fly-overs -- and you assholes out there bitching about how necessary it is to cut health care funding for old and poor people who need it most, how much do those fucking fly-overs cost? I'll stand and applaud when returning soldiers, decorated soldiers, wounded soldiers throw out the first pitch or are honored before or during a game -- I just don't get why sports are the avenues for that. Shouldn't we be honoring them like all the time? I support troops. I have friends serving and have had friends who have served. My father served. Both my grandparents did. I just never want to see strong, smart, motivated, young people -- people who are just starting to figure shit out and decide what they want to do with their lives -- sent to die for no reason. And that's practically the reality of every war we've fought in the last fifty years. That's not your stereotypical "point at laugh as the sissy LGBT leftie hates America in the high-pitched Jon Stewart voice (you know exactly what I'm talking about)," that's fact. Support the troops? Bring them home.
Back to the media though, I don't need to see the towers being hit by planes. I don't need to see them crumbling or horrified/terrified New Yorkers fearing the worst. I certainly don't need to see G-Dubs, and have no desire to see bin Laden. None of the above will ever be anything but permanently seared into my memory. I did momentarily slip though, in like one of those going to the checkout line and realizing that Nestle Crunch is like $0.79 manners. I watched about ten minutes of 09.11 coverage and saw that kid at St. Patrick's reading the letter to his dead father he never met -- who's dead because he was an NYPD lieutenant who fell on 09.11 while helping fellow first-responders -- and sobbed for a solid ten. Tearing up just thinking about it.
I've never lived in New York or D.C. nor did anyone (to my knowledge) I'm closely associated with lose anything but the pair of pants they pissed on 09.11. So maybe my perspective's skewed. This whole media hullabaloo about the 10-year anniversary just feels like it's about them doing what they do best -- self-promotion. The people affected, directly and obliquely, are the ones who get fucked. So when it comes to remembering 09.11 and how completely terrified/shocked/devasted I was, I'm going to do it by hanging out with my parents, thinking of all affected, and keeping far away from the media bit.
Rest in peace departed, stand strong survivors, lower your rent New York, hunt Timmy Geithner D.C.. And fuck off MSM.
Updated: Amended to fix some orthographical errors.
9.08.2011
Your 2011 Milwaukee Brewers
9.06.2011
9.05.2011
The Kind of Relationship I Desire
Review of Jan Morris's Hav
9.03.2011
2011 Boston Red Sox
9.02.2011
Sonata No. 1 for Violin and Piano, op. 80
9.01.2011
The 2011 Phillies
8.31.2011
1Q84 Excerpt
Video Game Museum in Berlin
8.30.2011
Post-It Note Art
8.28.2011
The Massacre at Old Trafford
8.27.2011
Finally Renewed My Library Card
Stay Safe Everyone
8.21.2011
Jan Morris
Light blogging (obviously)
Letter from Kurt Vonnegut
FROM:
Pfo. K. Vonnegut, Jr.,
12102964 U. S. Army.
TO:
Kurt Vonnegut,
Williams Creek,
Indianapolis, Indiana.
Dear people:
I'm told that you were probably never informed that I was anything other than "missing in action." Chances are that you also failed to receive any of the letters I wrote from Germany. That leaves me a lot of explaining to do -- in precis:
I've been a prisoner of war since December 19th, 1944, when our division was cut to ribbons by Hitler's last desperate thrust through Luxemburg and Belgium. Seven Fanatical Panzer Divisions hit us and cut us off from the rest of Hodges' First Army. The other American Divisions on our flanks managed to pull out: We were obliged to stay and fight. Bayonets aren't much good against tanks: Our ammunition, food and medical supplies gave out and our casualties out-numbered those who could still fight - so we gave up. The 106th got a Presidential Citation and some British Decoration from Montgomery for it, I'm told, but I'll be damned if it was worth it. I was one of the few who weren't wounded. For that much thank God.
Well, the supermen marched us, without food, water or sleep to Limberg, a distance of about sixty miles, I think, where we were loaded and locked up, sixty men to each small, unventilated, unheated box car. There were no sanitary accommodations -- the floors were covered with fresh cow dung. There wasn't room for all of us to lie down. Half slept while the other half stood. We spent several days, including Christmas, on that Limberg siding. On Christmas eve the Royal Air Force bombed and strafed our unmarked train. They killed about one-hundred-and-fifty of us. We got a little water Christmas Day and moved slowly across Germany to a large P.O.W. Camp in Muhlburg, South of Berlin. We were released from the box cars on New Year's Day. The Germans herded us through scalding delousing showers. Many men died from shock in the showers after ten days of starvation, thirst and exposure. But I didn't.
Under the Geneva Convention, Officers and Non-commissioned Officers are not obliged to work when taken prisoner. I am, as you know, a Private. One-hundred-and-fifty such minor beings were shipped to a Dresden work camp on January 10th. I was their leader by virtue of the little German I spoke. It was our misfortune to have sadistic and fanatical guards. We were refused medical attention and clothing: We were given long hours at extremely hard labor. Our food ration was two-hundred-and-fifty grams of black bread and one pint of unseasoned potato soup each day. After desperately trying to improve our situation for two months and having been met with bland smiles I told the guards just what I was going to do to them when the Russians came. They beat me up a little. I was fired as group leader. Beatings were very small time: -- one boy starved to death and the SS Troops shot two for stealing food.
On about February 14th the Americans came over, followed by the R.A.F. their combined labors killed 250,000 people in twenty-four hours and destroyed all of Dresden -- possibly the world's most beautiful city. But not me.
After that we were put to work carrying corpses from Air-Raid shelters; women, children, old men; dead from concussion, fire or suffocation. Civilians cursed us and threw rocks as we carried bodies to huge funeral pyres in the city.
When General Patton took Leipzig we were evacuated on foot to ('the Saxony-Czechoslovakian border'?). There we remained until the war ended. Our guards deserted us. On that happy day the Russians were intent on mopping up isolated outlaw resistance in our sector. Their planes (P-39's) strafed and bombed us, killing fourteen, but not me.
Eight of us stole a team and wagon. We traveled and looted our way through Sudetenland and Saxony for eight days, living like kings. The Russians are crazy about Americans. The Russians picked us up in Dresden. We rode from there to the American lines at Halle in Lend-Lease Ford trucks. We've since been flown to Le Havre.
I'm writing from a Red Cross Club in the Le Havre P.O.W. Repatriation Camp. I'm being wonderfully well feed and entertained. The state-bound ships are jammed, naturally, so I'll have to be patient. I hope to be home in a month. Once home I'll be given twenty-one days recuperation at Atterbury, about $600 back pay and -- get this -- sixty (60) days furlough.
I've too damned much to say, the rest will have to wait, I can't receive mail here so don't write.
May 29, 1945
Love,
Kurt - Jr.
8.20.2011
Impoverished meanies oppress the suffering wealthy
8.19.2011
Thao & Mirah on Tour -- Illustrated!
A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
Everything is ending. But not yet.
(originally published in the May issue of The Rockford Independent Press)
By BENJAMIN TAYLOR
Jennifer Egan has, for the past dozen years or so, proven time and again to be one of the more formally innovative American fiction writers working today. Her 2001 novel Look at Me plays with contemporary conflations of image and identity in telling the story of an emotionally withered model (from Rockford, incidentally) whose facial reconstruction following a horrific accident dramatically alters her experience of Manhattan’s social topography. Her 2007 book The Keep creatively (if unevenly) reimagines the gothic novel to dissect a relationship between two cousins haunted in different ways by their shared and individual pasts.
A Visit From the Goon Squad continues Egan’s exploration of the sedimented nature of identity through formal experimentation. In this instance, Egan subverts the conventions of the “rock novel” to examine the intersecting lives of a number of individuals associated with one Bennie Salazar, founder and CEO of Sow’s Ear Records, and his neurotic kleptomaniac assistant Sasha. It’s thought-provoking in a wistful way, thick with an almost elegiac sense of nostalgia, yet humorous and peppered with enough glimpses of humanity in its most bumbling and earnest sense to avoid draining the reader of any and all vestiges of hope. Just to get the accolades out of the way, A Visit From the Goon Squad was one of the most-decorated books of 2010, winning both the Pulitzer Prize for fiction and the National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction.
Employing thirteen vignettes rather than a conventionally straightforward narrative, Egan jumps from character to character, shifting narrative perspective as well as chronology. The effect is a bit disorienting in the first few sections, but ultimately edifying. The reader accesses Bennie and Sasha obliquely, viewing snapshots of various moments in their individual lives and (Platonic) relationship, and seeing them through the eyes of various friends, lovers, and family members. These lacunae in the narratives of Bennie and Sasha’s inner lives keep the reader at a distance that accentuates the fragility of the threads that bind Bennie and Sasha to their respective and mutual pasts.
The novel – or collection of linked short stories (three of the thirteen sections were published as stand-alone pieces in The New Yorker) – spans more than 50 years, from the mid-1970s to somewhere in the neighborhood of 2025 (more on that in a bit), and is above all a meditation on the manner in which those threads twist and fray as time passes, dreams evolve or die, and relationships develop or fade.
A Visit From the Goon Squad opens with Sasha at her therapist’s, discussing her kleptomania and recounting a recent date she had with Alex, who reappears as the focus of the final chapter. Two significant thefts occur during the chapter, and Sasha’s world-weary and damaged personality is revealed in its sad entirety. The narrative then shifts to a middle-aged Bennie, driving with the son he struggles to understand en route to meeting with a once-promising sister band. Bennie’s decline from a hotshot record producer to living anachronism is symbolized nicely by the gold flakes he sprinkles in his coffee in accordance with an Aztec myth that maintains the gold promotes virility. Bennie meets up with Sasha at the sisters’ home, ponders the desire he realizes he’s always had for her, but remains resigned to the impossibility of its fulfillment.
The third section, “Ask Me if I Care,” moves back to Bennie’s youth, when he performed as the bassist in a Bay Area punk rock group named the Flaming Dildos. Bennie’s bandmates and female groupies are introduced along with Lou, a famous musician and producer who’s boning one of the Dildos’ groupies (Lou clearly being a stand-in for Lou Reed). The next section, “Safari,” focuses on Lou six years earlier on a safari with Rolph, his eight-year old son, Charlene, his almost-pubescent daughter, and his girlfriend-cum-assistant Mindy. This section, while having no direct bearing on the Benny-Sasha main narrative, shows why Egan is such a penetrating writer. The safari provides the backdrop for a four-way power struggle pitting Lou against Mindy, Lou against Charlene, Charlene against Rolph, and Lou against Rolph. The conflict is mostly tacit, but illuminates the irreducible characteristics of each character’s place in life, the transitoriness of that place, and the inability to communicate one’s inner life to others. Lou and two of the Dildos’ groupies reappear in the next section at Lou’s deathbed, the two girls now in their forties, one a mother of three, one a recovering heroin addict muddling through.
The middle part of the book returns to Bennie and Sasha, beginning with Bennie and his wife Stephanie growing accustomed to their (now) privileged life in Crandale, where they join the Country Club. The reader learns later that the marriage ultimately fails, and Bennie’s growing disillusionment with the manicured opulence surrounding him in contrast to Stephanie’s twice-weekly tennis dates with a Barbie-esque neighbor certainly presages this. A later section, “Out of Body,” returns the narrative to Sasha and provides the most poignantly-written part of the entire book. Written in the second person, “Out of Body” shows young Sasha as a student at NYU through the eyes of her adored best friend Rob. In the course of the chapter, Rob realizes with wrenching clarity that he’s been in love with Sasha the entire time – too late, as Sasha’s developed a strong relationship with her boyfriend (and future husband) Drew. The clarity of Rob’s love for Sasha and his conflicted feelings toward himself (the reader learns he’s returned to NYU after three months recovering from a suicide attempt) and their mutual friends culminate in an extremely moving and tragic conclusion.
The novel ends with Bennie, Alex, and Scotty, one of his former bandmates, living in a frankly dystopian New York sometime in the middle of the 2020s. Bennie has receded to the margins of the music business, Alex is marginally employed and looking to work for Bennie, and Scotty making baleful music to the accompaniment of his slide guitar. Egan swells quite a bit on her vision of America circa 2025 in this final section, and her vision isn’t exactly optimistic. Yet Egan isn’t pessimistic enough to leave the reader without a grain of hope. The novel ends with two striking images that throw its meditations on time, memory, and identity into sharp relief: a quasi-spontaneous concert given by Scotty that, while technologically mediated and organized, transcends digital distance to celebrate human togetherness; and Bennie and Alex standing before the entrance to what had been Sasha’s apartment long ago, Bennie sighing, “I hope she found a good life. She deserves it.”
Despite its overall excellence, A Visit From the Goon Squad does strike a few false notes. To begin with, there are multiple instances in which, discussing a character toward the end of a section, Egan rips off a few paragraphs telling the reader exactly what would happen to that character in the future. It’s understandable that expanding the novel to include enough vignettes to show these future fates would harm the flow and structure of the finished product, yet these “Many years later…,” “’X’ would go on to…” et cetera feel out of place and seem unnecessary.
The greater problem is Egan’s forced futurism. Some critics – such as the New York Times’ Janet Maslin – found the sections toward the end of the novel that take place in the relatively distant future brave and prescient examinations of future society. And I guess that’s the rub with writing about the future – the world in which we live changes so rapidly that a casual inclusion of “sci-fi” elements seems unconvincing and will inevitably be dated long before the designated year. Egan seemed to try to emphasize that even in that future imperfect, humanity mutually shared still matters in a sense that accelerated technological development can’t quite capture; yet, she spends enough of the final two sections describing the disastrous effects of global warming, advances in mobile technology, fields of solar panels, (even more) ubiquitous government surveillance, and two generations of unnamed and undescribed war that the pathos which galvanized the previous sections of the book fades into the background. Without devoting the energy and page length to flesh out a future world fully – which would, of course, have been impractical in this instance – the jargon, text speak, and glimpses of Dystopia, USA just come across as forced.
All in all, however, A Visit From the Goon Squad is a moving and intelligently written novel justly deserving of its accolades.
A Visit From the Goon Squad
Jennifer Egan
Anchor, 340 pages
$14.95
ISBN: 0-307-47747-7
8.16.2011
All the Single Ladies
That's why I think it really seems more about a pretty photo shoot looking at that list. The women they picked are certainly beautiful -- I can't deny that. I had no idea Arianna Huffington was 61, because I would have said 45, she looks that good. Consider that last sentence an aside, I just really was surprised by that, and that's fantastic for her. She, though, has accomplished quite a bit, and built a media empire that's in my top five sites most visited and which I check multiple times daily. Sloane Crosley, however, wrote a bestselling if not well-written collection of essays entitled I Was Told There'd Be Cake. She followed it up with last year's much funnier and very better-written How Did You Get This Number? I don't want to knock Sloane, as she clearly has talent and will likely be doing awesome things in the publishing world for quite some time to come. She's only seven years my senior, and I've learned a thing or two about how rough "making it as a writer" can be -- she's made it, I haven't. So I give her her credit and find her very funny and rarely honest for a writer as young as she.
And yet I find it odd that a publication which aspires to seriousness would rank her above Michiko Kakutani, for instance. Again, nothing against Crosley, yet Kakutani is the most feared, admired, hated, respected woman in all of publishing. Writers tremble at the mention of her. She's the name you look for first in the New York Times Book Review. Kakutani can make a career or end it short. I agree with her about 60% of the time, but no one can deny that she functions as the arbiter of literary taste in America. She would be top three on my list. Rachel Maddow is essentially the face of MSNBC and easily the most intelligent political analyst on mainstream cable (I would only compare her with Keith Olbermann, who is easily as intelligent as Maddow, but whose zeal gets in the way of his ranting some times, Stewart, Maher, and Colbert -- the above, obviously, are men). Maddow consistently and eloquently provides the night's most incisive political commentary, and is a frequent guest on Meet the Press. Amy Goodman is simply the best journalist in America. Her program, which she essentially built from scratch, is the most reliable source of news about America and the world, and kept my mind active through a couple of rough years. She writes a column for The Guardian and often contributes to TruthDig, the Huffington Post, and -- I'm sure -- many other sites of which I'm yet unaware. She's an outspoken and active progressive, yet never hyperbolic and always fair to her ideological opponents. Journalism doesn't get better than that.
Just to name those three, as the work of those women in particular occupies a good deal of my day. Yet with the exception of Ms. Huffington, they're not on the list. Yes, I know it's a list of bachelorettes, which is in itself arbitrary. But if you want to talk about powerful women in media, why, aside from showing women like Ms. Crosley (who is, indeed, quite pretty) make the list restricted to just single women? It's such a blatantly sexist ploy on The Observer's part. And you bet it'll get read, mostly because men are as stereotypically fascinated by our junk as any Zach Galifianakis film implies. (I find Z.G. hilarious personally).
The whole list features young, slim, and straight pretty women with a few exceptions included to garnish The Observer's pretension to relevance. What's missing are women of color, LGBT women, activists who don't get on Sunday TV shows, women doing amazing things that impact us all far more than barely thirty pretty publicists. I have nothing against barely thirty pretty publicists, mind you. Yet the entire list seems to objectify young and pretty women for the sake of their youth and prettiness while leaving the actual female movers and shakers in media out for the most part. This benefits only those who think exploiting feminine youth and beauty is cool. Again, nothing wrong with being young and pretty -- I'm condemned to being young for a few more years at least, but never have been pretty, though it seems nice. Nothing against any of the women mentioned in that list, but I have all sorts of question for The Observer, none of which are Brett Baier softballs.
Congrats Jim Thome
Back to Thome. I've always had a lot of respect of Jim Thome, even when he played for the hated White Sox. I've always thought he has one of the most recognizable home run stances in baseball history, and as a fellow Illinoisan (he's from Peoria and grew up a Cubs fan), always sort of felt a connection with him. For most the two decades he's played, he's sort of been in the shadows of players (at the time) considered greater, players like Griffey, Bonds, McGwire, A-Rod. Speaking of Griffey (still easily the most electric player of the past twenty years in his prime), I always associated him and Thome, at least since I've been old enough to think about the game. Both down-to-earth men who wreaked havoc on opposing pitchers from Bret Saberhagen to Rick Porcello. Griffey would have been on par with Ty Cobb, Ruth, and Mays as one of the all-time greats had injuries during his time with the Reds not cost him many games and slowed him down. Thome was never going to be on that list. But, as his teammates will tell you, he's one of the hardest workers in the game, a team player, the exact opposite of Carlos Zambrano or a sulking Bonds.
His numbers will tell you the same thing (okay, these I did have to look up):
Career: .277, 600 HR, 1662 RBI, .403 OBP (seriously), .961 OPS, only one season after 1993 with an OPS under .847 (and that in an injury-shortened 2005 season in Philadelphia in which he played only 59 games and had only 193 ABs). Last year, he was quietly one of most dangerous hitters in the entire league, quietly putting up a .283/25/59 line with an OPS of 1.039 and an OPS+ of 177, which would have been good for second in the AL behind only Miguel Cabrera's 183 had he had more than 276 at-bats. Extend that line out to 500 ABs, and it turns into .283, 45, 109 line. That's an MVP candidate year. Yeah Thome's only hitting .254 this year, but with a .359 OBP and an .856 OPS, he's still clearly a formidable hitter, and has helped shore up a Twins lineup that's been without Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau for most of the year, and neither one has been 100% clearly. When Michael Cuddyer (nothing against him or any of the piranhas by the way) is your offensive leader with a .295/18/61 line and a .360/.845 OBP/OPS... wait hold on... that would seem to suggest that Jim Thome is the best hitter in the Twins' lineup this year. Identical OBP practically, slightly better OPS. Difference being Cuddyer's 421 ABs to Thome's 185.
Get this man more at-bats! He might not be an everyday player anymore, but c'mon Twins -- this is clearly not your year. At 53-67 you've probably overachieved given Mauer and Morneau's troubles and a fairly weak staff -- Liriano isn't ever going to be who he was before Tommy John, no-hitter aside. The fans love Thome, you have that beautiful new park (which I haven't been to yet, but believe me, it's on my to-do list), and a first-ballot Hall of Famer who seems to have a decent amount left in the tank. I almost never criticize the Twins, as their management and manager do more with less than any other club outside of Tampa Bay, but let him play!
Update: Forget to mention, a lot of what I wrote about Thome, aside from numbers of course, was based on an excellent Tim Kurkjian column on ESPN summarizing Thome's career. I'm not usually a Kurkjian fan, but he clearly has a lot of respect for Thome. It's a very good, insightful, and revealing column well worth reading.
8.14.2011
Europe's right-wing populist problem and American parallels
And then 9/11 happened, and the murder of the Dutch filmmaker Theo van Gogh, and the bombings in Madrid and London—all these atrocities perpetrated by terrorists acting in the name of a violent Islamist revolution. This finally gave right-wing populists a cause with which to crash into the center of European politics.
Breivik took a kind of logical next step from that rhetoric. And that’s part of why I think it’s troubling when people sort of attempt to dismiss him as a madman and not deal with the politics that are very much a part of our, unfortunately, mainstream political discourse, that walk right up to the edge of violence.