Friday, February 8, 2013

If I Were a Clay Pigeon, I'd Head to Camp David -- Or, The Left-Handed Gun

I have a question of the sort that is usually answered somewhere on the Interwebs.  But I can't find the question asked anywhere, nor evidence that would allow me to answer it.

So maybe it is not a good question.

But it's my website, and I'm going to ask it anyway.

It's about that photograph of President Barack Obama released by the White House reportedly showing him skeet shooting.  Maybe it's legit.  I don't know.

But before I get to my question, let me ask you this:

Do any of you remember Michael Dukakis?

Children, he ran for President against George H.W. Bush -- the first Bush -- in 1988.   He was the governor of Massachusetts.   In July 1988, he was leading Bush in the polls 55%-38%.   ("Dukakis Widens Lead, According to New Poll")

He lost.

Lost pretty bad.  Back in those days, the Republican states were blue.


Part of the reason he lost was because he, or his handlers, thought the public was stupid, and the public figured it out.

I'm not sure if he was one of the closest things to a pacifist we've ever had asking people to vote for him to have charge of defending the country.   But it is not unfair to say that, as these things were judged back then, he was, uh, soft on defense.

Everybody knew this.  Didn't seem to hurt him in the polls.  But his handlers were worried.

To fight back against the Bush campaign's charges of excessive doveishness, his handlers had what they thought was a bright idea.

They suited him up in tank-corps duds, plopped him into an M1 Abrams tank, and turned the camera on as he tootled around, grinning and waving.  Believing that this exhibition would, if not demonstrate, at least symbolize, his deep devotion to national defense.

Didn't work.

Backfired.

He looked like a Westminster poodle sniffing for IED's on a Kabul backroad.



The Republicans converted that footage into a campaign ad that ran the clip of his tanky perambulations under a text purporting to describe his positions opposing various defense initiatives.  (Dukakis Tank Commercial)

Dukakis lost for lots of other reasons.   He took enormous heat for his unbelievable record of commuting the sentences of murderers -- 21 first-degree murderers, and 23 second-degree murderers -- dramatized by the Republicans in the famous "Willie Horton" ads.

Also, in those more enlightened times, my children, it was actually possible to be too left-of-center to be elected.

(And, my Republican pals, let's not forget G.H.W. Bush's "read-my-lips-no-new-taxes" fib.)  

But looking absolutely ridiculous, not to mention hypocritical, in that tank and combat getup could not have helped the governor.

Yes, folks, I thought of those warlike images of Dukakis when I saw the picture of POTUS firing the shotgun at the Camp David skeet range, offered by the White House in support of his earlier boast that "we do skeet shooting all the time," the WH apparently hoping to deflect the anger of his gun-owning constituents (a constituency that has grown dramatically in recent weeks) over what they had heard about his position on this part of their personal property.

The first thing I thought was:  Would someone who engaged in this activity "all time time" refer to it as "doing skeet shooting?"

But when I saw the photograph, I thought something else.

To make sure I wasn't being unfair to our President, since I do not do skeet shooting, I did some due diligence, which consisted of entering the phrase "skeet shooting" into the friendly Google pane, and clicking "Images."  Here are some of the first photos that popped up:






So as I understand matters, you get your gun ready, put the thing up to your shoulder, yell "pull" or belch or something, and the clay pigeon -- I guess it's not called a "skeet" -- launches up into the air and you shoot the gun at it hoping to strike it with some portion of your shotgun pellets.

The key phrase there, supported by the admittedly anecdotal evidence of my Google investigation, is "up into the air."

Now look at the photograph released by the White House:



There are some obvious problems with this portrait.  The dark glasses; no shoulder pad; an oddness in the form.  And only one photograph?  No proud pose next to the shattered clay pigeon?

But my question is:

What the heck is he shooting at?

For certain, despite a very slight upward angle to the barrel, nothing that is very far off the ground.

Perhaps he prefers to slay his clay pigeons when they're not moving and was launching a preemptive strike on the trap.

Perhaps he was exercising extreme deliberation, or extreme indecisiveness, and did not pull the trigger until the clay pigeon was approaching the earth.

Perhaps a drone -- or, better, a SEAL team -- had already taken out the clay pigeon followed by a hastily-arranged burial at sea observing all clay-pigeon post-mortem spiritual requirements -- and POTUS was just firing the gun for the photo op.

Perhaps there was no clay pigeon; no trap; no nothing.

Look, maybe he was firing at a duly launched clay pigeon.  I don't know.  But this photograph not only does his bona fides on gun ownership no good, its facial inauthenticity undermines the boast it was released to support.  And, as Governor Dukakis discovered with his own machismo initiative, it makes him look preposterous.

It's a freeze-frame parable of this man -- a lot of noise and smoke, looks good in jeans and shades, but, upon examination, nothing there.  The picture, the story, out knowledge of him, is incomplete.  Not what he says he is.  Not what others claim him to be.

As I say, I don't know the result of the President's assault on the clay pigeon, if any.

But I know that he's being rightly ridiculed for that mysterious photograph and his glib claim of firearms use that required its production.  (Google "obama skeet dukakis tank" and see what you get.)  

And his approval rating is starting to sink.  (I really wanted to write "starting to tank," but  .  .  .  no.)

Now that probably has something to do with people getting a look at their paychecks, come this new year.  And there's the inevitable buyer's remorse that follows any election.

But it may, just may, have a little something to do with people beginning to understand that their intelligence is being insulted.

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Twitter:  @CoolHotCenter
Email:  CoolHotCenter@gmail.com

Friday, January 4, 2013

Prime Numbers Are Funny -- Further Potent Support

Awhile back, this site expressed the view, backed by little other than a priori reasoning, that prime numbers are the funniest subset of numbers -- if not intrinsically funny, at least funnier than non-prime numbers.  I expressed the view that if you need a number to make a funny point or illustrate a joke, you are better off with a prime than with numbers that are the products of primes.  I urge you to check out my essay here:  Prime Numbers Are Funny.

Now comes the news that the Farrelly Brothers are about to issue a new comedy.  The name?

"Movie 43."    (You can read about it here.)

Oh, it's a comedy all right, and you would know that even if you don't know that that's the kind of movies that the Farrelly Komedy Factory generate.  Here's a poster for it:

"Comedy exposed."  "The most outrageous comedy ever made."   If a movie like this is going to be designated by a numeral, there is only one possible choice -- a prime, which 43 is.
It's catching on, folks.  If you want the latest in pointeless pop culture theorizing you have got, just got, to come to The Cool Hot Center.

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Twitter:  @CoolHotCenter


Thursday, January 3, 2013

I Return to the Scene of the Crime, Craving the Original


On Wednesday, June 10, 2010, I experienced one of the most astonishing catastrophes in the history of fast-food service at the Preston-Rolater KFC.  I recorded it for your benefit on the very same evening.  It remains one of the most frequently hit articles on this site.  You can find it here:


and you might want to revisit that sad tale before you read any further.

I am here to report on a second example of appalling service at this establishment that took place on Sunday, December 2, 2012.

In fairness, I must report that I have made successful chicken and side-order purchases in the months since then.  It’s always dicey – order-fillers sometimes disappear into the bowels of the store to go looking for vendable chicken to fill the order, and order-takers seem to be in a constant state of unsupervised training.  (See below.)  But in most of these visits, excruciating clarity in ordering, followed up by a stern cross-examination of the server as to the contetns of the bags when he or she finally, breathlessly, delivers them, will usually result in an order approximating the one you issued before the body starts consuming itself with hunger.

The Dallas Cowboys were on TV that evening.  One might think that the store would have prepared for this, although, when I arrived at 5:15 – that's right, prime chicken-acquiring time – the store was not crowded nor was there a line of cars with inhabitants demanding the instant vending of chicken.  There was one woman in front of me.  A few customers in the dining room, including one family with two small children.

And I must point out that KFC is currently airing commercials advertising their "Gameday Bucket" showing sports-watching consumers with multiple buckets of fried chicken on the coffe table before them -- urging the public to travel to KFC to order these large quantities of chicken to enjoy while football games of interest are on during this season of interesting football games.  And there is no metro more concentrated on the viewing on the teevee of its team than DFW.

Point:  KFC strategic planning anticipates major chicken orders before big games, especially big games of intense local interest.

Tactical planning on the ground -- a different story.

The counter lad was the latest in an unending string of the undertrained.   He was almost inaudible and had a look of concerned puzzlement on his face.  The woman in front of me, a nicely dressed, literate human, was having a terrible time getting her order across to this guy, who stared mutely at the panel of selections before him on the cash register, and a colleague had to come and reach around him to poke at the proper buttons.

Suddenly, at the edge of my vision, I saw the mother of the family group in the dining room approach the counter.  She had brought with her the entire large platter of their dinner.  She spoke to someone who went to get someone else.  The someone else was a gentleman of around 50, dressed in a way that more-or-less conveyed the impression that he was the manager of the place.  It is the only time I can ever remember seeing anything resembling a mature adult officer at this establishment.  I wondered what he had been doing before he was summoned to deal with this dissatisfied client.  Hint -- not making chicken .

The woman was shaking her head and had a look of disgust on her face.  I could not hear her precise complaint.  I don't know if the order was wrong or the food was unsatisfactory.  I only know the family had barely touched it and they were submitting it for a refund.  The manager complied and the family left, taking their drinks with them.  (I did not interpret this dining strategy as being implement just to get free drinks.)

The woman ahead of me had completed giving her order and it was my turn.  I ordered my usual eight-piece all-dark Original – four drumsticks and four thighs, with cole slaw as my side order.

That order proved troublesome for the Yum! Foods/KFC Organization.

At 5:15 p.m. on a not-so-busy Sunday before an evening Cowboy game, this KFC was out of cole slaw.

I said OK, no  problem, skip the cole slaw.

I paid for my bucket.

A few moments later, I heard some mumbling going on behind the racks that held the chicken.  It was the counter guy and a couple of chicken-making guys.  I heard the word "drumstick."  There is only one reason for the counter guy to be discussing drumsticks in clandestine tones with guys in charge of preparing them, that being that this KFC did not have any to sell.  I was so certain of this interpretation that I spoke loudly enough to be heard through the chicken racks:  "That's OK, I'll just take all thighs." 

They looked up.  I had been correct.  That's right – no Original drumsticks at this time, a time when most properly-run restaurants would be ready to sell what has got to be one of single most iconic food items it offers, the Original drumstick.

Oh, Cool Hot Centrists, if it had ended there I would not be writing this.  

After a brief wait, another guy came out with the bad news – they did not have enough Original thighs to make up my order – would I like other Original pieces?

At this point, I was shaking my head and smiling.  No, I said – just fill out the order with Crispy thighs.

("Crispy thighs" – now there's an image to kill a romantic evening.)

I don't much care for the KFC Crispy preparation.  It has a faintly medicinal bouquet. 

But I took it.  I thanked them.
 
When I left the woman in front of me was still standing there.
 
Bucket of Original Dark,
ambrosial tasty skin falling off  the delectable grease-infused meat
 -- image available online,if  not at the Preston-Rolater KFC

I wondered as I got into the car whether the order the disgruntled family had returned might possibly have had as one of its constituents some un-nibbled Original thighs.
 
 
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Twitter:  @CoolHotCenter


Wednesday, December 12, 2012

MINI BOOK REVIEW: Reading Like a Writer, by Francine Prose (Yes, That's Really Her Name)


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I can pinpoint the moment when I more or less gave up on "serious" American fiction.  Probably about 15 years ago.  The book was Susan Minot's Evening.


The book was hugely praised, as had been her previous short stories and novels.  Raves from all quarters.

I overcame my negative reaction to the photograph of the author on the back cover -- I'd purchased it in hardcover -- which struck me as self-satisfied and somehow unserious for an author of serious fiction:




All right, it's unfair.  But I didn't judge the book by its cover.  I bought it and I started to read it.

In fairness to Ms. Minot, I had been souring on serious American fiction for a long time.  By "serious" fiction, I mean fiction that aspires to be literature, to be art.  This would exclude most modern crime and "best-seller" romantic fiction, although some would call (for example) what Elmore Leonard does "literature," and I would not entirely disagree with them.  Chandler, Hammett, Macdonald, absolutely.   I'm talking about fiction that explores fundamental human issues like love, freedom, power, sexuality, family, memory, God, gods, truth, beauty, and what to do with one's damned life.  I had been reading American literature, past and present, for a long time, before I had to start reading law texts and since I was able to stop, and there was a time when I loved much of what I selected. 

But sometime in the early-to-mid Nineties, I started hitting some clinkers.  Novels and short stories both.  I blamed the academy, notably the Iowa Writers Workshop, whose graduates were turning out dull, solipsistic fiction about extremely uninteresting humans.  And of course there was that old villain, the New York Literary Establishment, a bunch of people who all went to the same parties and who reinforced one another's judgments about the Bright Young Things that were emerging amongst the baby boomers.

So maybe I was unfair when I stopped reading Evening about a third of the way into it.  I thought I might be able to pinpoint the page.  Sometimes when I put a book aside, which is not often, I'll leave a bookmark in there, thinking I might come back to it.  I just went to my library -- nope, apparently I did not think it could be salvaged.

My memory of it is vague.  A woman was dying.  There were recollections of love affairs, betrayal of friends and lovers, I think.  There was not an appealing or affirmative character in the bunch.  Mostly women, as I recall.  Nothing wrong with that; they just weren't interesting or likable women.  Their thoughts were pedestrian, their urges dully sexual.   (I admire many female authors:  Willa Cather, Grace Paley, Flannery O'Connor, Jayne Anne Phillips, to name a few.)   I think there was a sister or best friend involved somehow.  I don't remember what I thought of the writing, but I can tell you that during this period, the Minimalists (Ann Beattie and the like) had seriously infiltrated American fiction, misunderstanding the appeal of Hemingway and writing in prose so plain that it had the unintentional effect of revealing with great clarity that the authors had little of interest to convey.  This book was like that.

So I stopped buying new serious fiction.  My next read?  Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, and that was that -- I began devouring crime fiction and never really went back.  (Two marvelous exceptions:  Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March and David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest -- both leading candidates for Great American Novel -- really, Martin Amis has so nominated Augie March.)  And I started reading poetry. 

I was in a bookstore at Logan Airport recently and my eye rested on Francine Prose's Reading Like a Writer.  If there is one thing I like as much as reading fiction, it's reading about writing fiction.  I probably have forty books about writing reposing in my library. 

I loved it.  It consists of very close readings of excerpts of word use, sentences, paragraphs, narrative, dialogue, and other literary devices mostly taken from classical literature -- interestingly, comparatively few examples from modern English-language fiction.  Her readings were convincing and themselves delightful reading.   It made me remember the pleasure I took (and still take) from great writing, from careful prose no less evocative for being careful. 

It also made me remember that I had a book sitting on my shelf that had been a Christmas gift two years ago from a reader whose intelligence, taste, and judgment I trusted:  Jonathan Franzen's Freedom, winner of the 2010 National Book Critics Circle Award and lavishly reviewed everywhere.  Oprah and Obama both raved about it.  Although you may remember Franzen from his dustup with Oprah when he declined to cooperate with Oprah's selection of his previous smash hit, The Corrections, for her Book Club.  Apparently, she had no hard feelings.


It's next on my list.

I'll give you a report.

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N.B.:  I just checked Susan Minot's Wikipedia entry.  Evening was published in 1998.  She published one other novel (Rapture, 2002), and that was it. 
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Monday, November 5, 2012

I Don’t Need a Weatherman to Know Which Way I Probably Think the Wind Might Conceivably Be Blowing, Possibly


I am not a student of electoral trends and I am not good at predicting the results of elections.  
 
For example, earlier on in 2008, I believed that Obama would suffer a loss of McGovernesque (RIP) proportions.  I lived in Chicago.  I knew about Obama.  I knew him to be an impressive-appearing-and-sounding pol.  I knew him to be far left of the American mainstream.  I knew him to be a poorly-regarded state legislator and an undistinguished Representative.  I knew he had never accomplished much of anything else in his life, nor could I describe a single community organizational initiative with which he had been associated.  I believed that these things would become known to the electorate.  
 
Obviously, there were some things I did not know.  I did not know John McCain would be such a weak, old, candidate, or that he would make the Palin misstep.  I knew of the electorate’s deep dissatisfaction with George Bush (I shared it), but did not know how profound that revulsion was.  I assumed Obama would disguise his leftism, but I did not foresee the mainstream media’s wholesale abdication of its duty to report what it knew, or should have known, or should have discovered about the man if it cared to stand back from its lover’s blindly protective embrace.  By the time the election rolled around, I was not under any illusions as to its outcome.
 
This time around, the auspices were not much more comforting.  With the exception of Fox News and The Drudge Report – formidable exceptions, to be sure – the media’s coverage of the Administration and the campaign has run true to their 2008 form.  The layout of the electoral college appeared to be seriously tilted against Romney.  The polls in the swing states didn’t look good for the GOP.
 
And then there’s that immovable 47%.  Saw a great article on who is supporting the President that I thought hit the nail on the head – of course, I’ve lost track of it and I’m not going to remember all of its points.  It’s blacks; Hispanics to a somewhat lesser extent; people who rely on the government for welfare or employment or contracts, a truly frightening slice of the electorate; and college graduates steeped in “social justice” theory and socialist/collectivist economic and political dogma.  And, of course, there are those people who cannot shake off the romance of a skinny black "cool" president.  Others, of course.   
 
These people are not insincere or dumb (at least, not in numbers any greater than those on the other side) – they may really think that the socialization of medicine and cheap doctors is a good idea, and are happy to support and defend everything the President has done.  I’m not arguing with them here.  The point is, there’s nothing Republicans can do about those people (just like there’s nothing the Democrats can do with the Tea Party folks), and Romney needs pretty much everyone else, in addition to a major change in the prospects in the swing states.  
 
So post-conventions, things did not look good for Romney.  And I'm hearing that early voting in some swing states is favoring POTUS.   On this Election Eve, the polls still give Obama a decided edge in the Electoral College.
 
But for awhile now, I have had a feeling that Romney was going to win.   I felt that yeah, there’s a good chance Romney is going to get a lot of those undecideds and things were going to tighten up in enough of those swing states to give him the victory.  I see the Electoral College polls that continue to give Obama the swing states and the election. But I just get a feeling that the President is going to be defeated, possibly decisively.
 
I think the President believes it too. 
 
In the closing days of the campaign, he has become increasingly angry. He is astounded that the electorate no longer perceives his magnificence and inevitability.  His remark the other day that "voting is the best revenge" perfectly portrays his smallness, his bitterness, and his conviction that the American system is an oppressive one against which "revenge" must be taken through his policies attacking it.
 
I'm prepared to be wrong about that prediction.  But I think I'm right about a larger point this election is likely to prove:    
 
In important respects, even if he secures another term, Barack Obama has already lost.  
 
Because as this dreary administration stumbled through its term, certain things were becoming clear about this President to a whole lot of people who voted for him in 2008.  An administration that began with such excitement over its historical grooviness has grown pouty, angry, and even smutty.  Many people who didn't vote for the man, like me, were willing to see whether his administration would usher in an era of bipartisanship, improved race relations and international harmony.  
 
But the promise was false, the man himself not what he pretended to be.  And the media could not possibly cover it up over the course of a campaign where people really had to think had about who they’d put in the White House.  Even if he wins, it will be the victory of a hack, the baleful legacy of the New Deal and the Great Society spawning a host of hands-out Democratic client constituencies -- not a glorious affirmation of the wisdom of inclusion.
 
I started ticking off the reasons this election is even close after Barack Obama’s extraordinary electoral achievement of 2008, and each time I return to this draft I think of a couple more.  But I'll stop with an even dozen:
 
            (1)        His Policies Don’t Work and Will Damage the Country Even More as Time Goes By.    I’ll pass this – too big a topic for this entry, and others have done a more thorough job on any one of them than I could. 
 
            (2)      When It Comes to His Job, He's Lazy and Disengaged.  He makes George Bush look like a paragon of concentration and a dervish of productivity.  Historic levels of golf.   Many parties – Michelle especially loves them, and vacations.  Can't be bothered to attend national security briefings.   And did you read that article by Obama fan Ryan Lizza in Obama fanmag The New Yorker?  His style of decisionmaking is to examine checklists created by aids that he writes little comments on or checks off ("OK").  He doesn't like to meet with people.  He really doesn't like to do press conferences.  I was not at all surprised at his game-changing performance in the first debate – stories of his loathing of studying up for it had been circulating for some time.  
 
            (3)        In Fact, He Doesn't Like to Be Questioned At All and Is Discomfited and Angry When Challenged.   Because a guy who's gotten promoted on a record of near-zero accomplishments in private or public life is not going to be able to answer those questions or bat back those challenges.  And because he is not, in fact, “eloquent.”
 
            (4)        Now That We See that He's Not All That Capable, that Shadowy Personal History Starts to Matter.  He can't help it that his parents were who they were or that his father was unreliable and gone.  But he could have done a whole lot more to put the Kenya/Hawaii business to bed, and he behaved badly about it even when that somewhat peculiar birth certificate finally emerged (and was peculiarly exposed to a friendly press) –I wrote about it here, my point being that Obama does not think where he was born should matter, the Constitution notwithstanding.  I think he was born in Hawaii, but does anyone really believe that the 1991 book promotion blurb saying he was born in Kenya was an error deliberately introduced solely by his agent or anyone else?  Wouldn’t you like to see what he put on his college application? 
 
            It is now pretty widely accepted that he did not compose Dreams from My Father, but that it was written by radical professor William Ayres.  And that much of that book is (1) put generously, a composite of experiences and people (including women) Obama claims to have experienced and known and not a reliable autobiography, and (2) put ungenerously, false.  His academic career?  Extraordinarily opaque.   Evidence of self-composed “eloquence”?  Similarly missing.  His mysterious world travels, his contacts, his ties to radicals, his ties to race hustlers like Rev. Wright, his financial support – smoke/fire.  There remains much about this man that is unknown, and that is going to come out sometime, whether or not he is elected.  Like the Kennedys’ incredible womanizing while in office, there will come a time when we will be staggered at the character of the man we elected, and some of us loved.
 
           (5)        If Anything, His Policies and Attitudes Have Exacerbated Racial Tensions.   Even though his 2008 campaign repudiation of Jeremiah Wright was half-hearted, it was a step in the right direction.  I thought we would hear more about the value of education and other critical steps to continued improvement of race relations and the economic circumstances of urban blacks.  We did not.  The message continued to be the standard Democratic line of continued dependence.    He has been entirely content to let his supporters accuse his critics of racism.  His economic and labor policies have discouraged employment.  On balance, resentment over Democratic celebration of his mediocre tenure has fueled interracial suspicion – yep, contrary to the hagiography, his story is one of affirmative action writ large.
 
            (6)        It's Really True – He Believes in the Forced Redistribution of Wealth.  And I don't mean "wealth" in the sense of "a whole lot of money owned by people we would all agree are 'rich,' whatever that really means," I mean "assets owned by a person who has more than another person, irrespective of talent, industry, judgment, family, and other circumstances not controllable by the state."  His morality – in fact, the morality of much of the left – is that forcibly leveling prosperity is “right,” irrespective of the tendency of that policy to retard economic progress.
 
            (7)        It's Really True – He Believes that the United States Has Been a Force for Ill in the World, and that the Principles of Freedom and Capitalism Should Not Be Promoted.  No doubt the U.S. has made mistakes as a world leader, and has proceeded clumsily and sometimes corruptly.  On balance, though, the United States has been and remains (so far) a beacon of freedom, opportunity, and progress.  This President believes in the same leveling of countries that he promotes among persons of unequal wealth in the country he runs. 
 
            (8)        He's Actually Rather Unpleasant.   Mitt Romney suggested in his (disappointingly bland and shallow) convention speech that Obama is a nice guy.  I don’t think he’s a nice guy.  I think he’s motivated by jealousy and insecurity and this campaign is Exhibit 1.     He believes that wealth and merit should be punished, is an adversary to be defeated.  His campaign has been angry and negative.  He has refused to lend his personal charm to Democratic candidates.  His bus can’t move, there are so many corpses stacked under it.  The buck always stops well short of him.   
 
           Every president must have a healthy-self regard, but he is singular in is inability to disguise an ego bordering on megalomania.  The comparative frequency of his use of “I” in his public addresses is well-documented. 


Can you imagine any other campaign releasing a formal photo like this?
 
            (9)        It Matters that He's Never Accomplished Anything, Other than Electorally.   The public was aware of his lack of work experience and his relative lack of legislative experience, and that experience was decidedly lackluster (and notably unindustrious).  This was deemed not to matter with his personal charm and exciting message on the other side of the scale.  But now that that charm and message are in tatters, voters are recalling that this guy is pretty much just a guy, nothing more.  
 
            (10)        His 2008 Posture of Moderate Bipartisanship Was a Fraud.   No one, not even the 47%, is any longer claiming that he is a moderate or interested in bipartisanship.  I’m not a big fan of bipartisanship myself where principles are at stake, but the point is that this is how he held himself out, and how the media portrayed him, and why the center voted for him.
 
            (11)      He Is Protected by a Biased and Dishonest Media Establishment.  Speaking of which, his coddling by the mainstream media is undeniable.  You can howl about Drudge and Fox News all you want, but they are the exception and do not self-righteously deny their opposition to POTUS.   For the purposes of this list, the point is not whether either of the sides is right or wrong, it’s that the public can see that the MSM is steadfastly refusing to report carefully on this administration, and they resent it. 
 
 
            (12)      He Believes that He is Historically Inevitable.  And believes as well that that is a substitute for positive governing results.  Many of the moderates and undecideds who were caught up in the historic possibility of our first black president – and one with undeniable charisma when his fury over opposition isn’t bubbling to the surface – now perceive that the drama of his election was just that, a drama, a story, show biz.  They suspended disbelief and went with that story, but the second act has been a bust.  The President, however, has the sand to make “Forward” his campaign theme, and Mrs. Obama was caught the other day exhorting a crowd to think ahead to the wonders that can be accomplished if her man is awarded four more years.  But he has not proven to be an inspirational leader, or, in the solitude he’s most comfortable with, any other kind of a leader.  The mythology constructed for his 2008 campaign was brilliant – but, in the end, only a myth.  His presidency is no more a natural result of historical forces than is the administration on Mt. Olympus.

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The reader will have noticed I didn’t say anything positive about Mitt Romney.  It is true that among the reasons I have voted for him is that he is not Barack Obama.  But he has run a strong campaign, he has a strong record of public and private achievement, he supports American capitalism, and he believes in American exceptionalism in the world.  Lots of reasons to vote for the man.
I’m caught up in his momentum and I am not going to deny that I believe the momentum will carry him to victory because I want to believe it.  Even if he loses, though, Barack Obama will be governing a country where more and more people have found him out. 
The textbooks of the future will dutifully report his historical significance.  The illusion of transcendence, however, has evaporated.  The promise of competence, a murky half-remembered dream.  For many of us – including those of us who did not vote for him but who were ready for a fresh breeze blowing through the White House – his defeat is already assured.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

A New and and Questionable Observation About Raymond Chandler's PLAYBACK

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This isn't much of a literary theory, as literary theories go, but it is of interest.  Perhaps only to me.  And other Raymond Chandler enthusiasts.

In the past, I have favored you with a minor theory on Elmore Leonard's novels, which I presented here and followed up on here.  It was a nice little theory.  Won't revolutionize Leonard scholarship, but it was fun to be the first to point something out.

I think I've may have another one.

Raymond Chandler
Raymond Chandler, of course, is the author of the Philip Marlowe noir private eye novels -- the one's you've heard of are The Big Sleep, The Long Goodbye, and Farewell, My Lovely, although many critics would add The Little Sister to the list of his best -- and widely recognized as one of America's finest writers.  He also wrote the screenplays for the Hitchcock classic "Strangers on a Train" and managed to make Fred MacMurray seem evil as he was manipulated by Barbara Stanwyck in "Double Indemnity" (before he was found out by Edward G. Robinson).   In recent years his work has been honored by republication by the Library of America.

His last novel is Playback.


It is set in the fictional California coastal town of Esmeralda, which he describes as follows:  

"Like most small towns, Esmeralda had one main Street from which in both directions its commercial establishments flowed gently for a short block or so and then with hardly a change of mood became streets with houses where people lived. But unlike most small California towns it had no false fronts, no cheesy billboards, no drive-in hamburger joints, no cigar counters or pool-rooms, and no street corner toughs to hang around in front of them. The stores on Grand Street were either old and narrow but not tawdry or else well modernized with plate glass and stainless steel fronts and neon lighting in clear crisp colors. Not everybody in Esmeralda was prosperous, not everybody was happy, not everybody drove a Cadillac, a Jaguar or a Riley, but the percentage of obviously prosperous living was very high, and the stores that sold luxury goods were as neat and expensive-looking as those in Beverly Hills and far less flashy. There was another small difference too. In Esmeralda what was old was also clean and sometimes quaint. In other small towns what is old is just shabby."


Esmeralda is universally taken to be a stand-in for La Jolla, where Chandler lived the last dozen years of his life.   This paragraph and other references in the novel could easily be taken for La Jolla in 2012, and this was probably also the case in 1958 when Playback was published.  I thought about linking to a couple of references to Esmeralda being La Jolla, but there are so many of them that there seems to be no doubt about this in the commentary on the novel.

The one thing I didn't find was any reference to Chandler saying that Esmeralda is based on La Jolla.


During my residence in the San Diego area, my favorite place to visit was Del Mar, the village bordering La Jolla on its north.   And my favorite place in Del Mar, next to the seaside park on a bluff overlooking the beach, was the Esmeralda Bookstore in the Del Mar Plaza.  It was named after Chandler's fictional village, and a snip of the foregoing quotation was reproduced on their bookmarks.  

Unfortunately, the shop closed some years ago in a dispute with the Plaza landlord.  I cannot find a copy of their logo online, but I have a T-shirt with the logo, which I also can't find, but I did find a copy of their bookmark, from which I have made this enlargement


showing an observant octopus appearing to shelter two contented dolphins, in turn protecting the precious printed word.

Anagrams are not a hobby of mine, I don't go out of my way to rearrange words or phrases to make other words and phrases – the Internet has pretty much made that pasttime superfluous anyway. and I'm not one of those "mystic spellers" who sees letters buzzing around the room during a spelling bee.   Pretty much, I read what's on the page and that's that.  But for some reason, as I was looking at the logo one day, I saw the transformation before me as clear as could be, the letters just seemed to fall out of the word:

E S M E R A L D A

D E L   M A R   S E A

I returned to the bookstore on a visit to tell the proprietors what I had discovered.  Perhaps they had noticed it too; perhaps that's how this Del Mar shop got its name.  But  the store had closed not long before.

So, was Esmeralda was a stand-in for Del Mar, rather than La Jolla?   Maybe.  The fictional Esmeralda seems to have a tonier business strip than Del Mar, the latter's consisting only of shops along the Pacific Coast Highway, and I suspect that difference was more pronounced in 1958.  La Jolla is where the commercial money is.  But in other respects, the description fits Del Mar somewhat better than it does La Jolla.  Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

So I've brought you all this way to say:  I dunno.

As I said, it's not much of a theory.

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Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Obama Campaign's Money Shot

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These ads are everywhere.  I glance at them -- how can one help it?



They come in all shapes and sizes.  Some are in black and white.


And they come in a variety of shapes:



Every time I encountered them, they gave me the creeps.  Why?  Lotsa Romney ads out there, too, shilling for dough.  Nothing wrong with that, part of the process.  First Lady out there shaking the tree.  Gotta have swag to run a campaign.  From what I read, the President needs it pretty bad.  So why was this particular ad so odd-looking and unsettling?

My first thought was that it did not seem very compelling to suggest that the candidate's wife was supporting him.  

I was also uncertain whether her endorsement is even a plus.  I have no idea whether Michelle is popular with voters.  She's a strikingly lovely woman, quite impressive at the lectern.  But after a good start as a candidate's wife and First Lady, it appears that -- the White House vegetable garden aside -- her main interests are celebrity hobnobbing, White House parties, and extravagant vacations with and without Barack.  Like her husband, she's gradually acquired a patina of unlikability.  

No, it wasn't her presence in the ad that was saying weird.

Suddenly, it struck me.

It was the slogan.

Join Michelle and tell Barack You're In.

I know, we all know, what it its author would say it means:   "Hey, we all like Barack -- he's my husband, you know, I call him Barack, you can too! -- so come along with me and join the Barack team!"

But  .  .  .  

Join Michelle.

Join her in what?

Must be:  join her in doing something 

What is she doing?

She is "telling" Barack, "you're in."

I know, I know, you don't have to say it, the "you" isn't "you, Barack," it's "you, reader."  

But I do not believe for an instant that whoever composed and approved this -- and I doubt the President or First Lady had anything to do with it -- didn't calculate that this is easily interpreted, even by those whose minds don't trend that way, as Join Michelle and tell Barack: "You're In."

There it was, the creepiness, the weirdness, the ick:  A pitch for cash accomplished in terms of a suggestion of POTUS coitus.  

Capitalizing, albeit subliminally, on what his handlers believe (and, I've come to think for other reasons, is the President's own belief) to be his sexual magnetism. 

I have some long thoughts about this President's emerging strangeness which I will spare you.  For now. But this bizarre and ubiquitous batch of Internet ads reinforces the thought that his handlers, some of them, seem somehow unserious about his re-election.  

The campaign's advocates for this ad knew how easily it could be read to summon up a carnal image.  (Try to imagine this ad with Hillary Clinton in that photograph in 1996 -- long before the Lewinsky scandal broke -- saying "Join Hillary and tell Bill You're In.")   Obama's ad guys think they're being clever, and that the clever people they believe to be their natural constituency will identify with it and applaud that winking naughtiness with their checkbooks.  Whether they are right, I don't know.  I do know they have diminished an already shrinking presidency, and man.  

Monday, July 9, 2012

Frank Cady, RIP

I have a soft spot for Hollywood's journeymen, those actors and actresses who were not stars and knew they never would be, but who toiled more or less anonymously and found work whenever a "type" was needed.  I guess they call them "character actors," but they were actors nonetheless.

Once in awhile, one of them would get a defining role.  Bad for a star who doesn't want to get pigeonholed, good for a journeyman who wants to stay employed.

We lost a great one on June 8.  Frank Cady -- Sam Drucker on "Green Acres"  (and "Petticoat Junction" and "Beverly Hillbillies") proprietor of the Hooterville general store -- passed at 96.  (Eddie Albert was 99 when he died -- must be that "fresh air" he sang about in the theme song.)


Fun fact:  He was also in Alfred Hitchcock's "Rear Window."  No, not as Sam Drucker.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Itsy Bitsy Spi -- Uh, Wait

The Schwinn Moab 3 is not one of those speedy road bikes.  I believe the Schwinn people called it a "mountain bike" when it came out, but I've always thought that gave people the misimpression that I seek out mountains for biking, not that there are any around Dallas.  I've always called it a "trail bike," which also gives people a misimpression about my biking abilities, but a less severe one.   On bike rallies, obese women on sleek bikes with skinny tires go flying past me.  That's OK.  Like me, the Schwinn is built for comfort, not for speed.  And pushing some extra metal up the road is going to burn some calories.

And because I don't go very fast, I can enjoy the view.  Most of those views I have already seen many times from a car.  I keep my eyes on the road, partly because I am not a skilled rider and need to keep it in view at all times, and partly because one finds some interesting things there.

Lately, I've been taking a nifty little Canon Powershot S95 with me.

It usually goes like this:  I'm pedaling along, some odd shape dashes across my vision, and five seconds later, when I'm some ways down the road, I realize it was too symmetrical, or too large, or too moving-around to be standard road crud.

It was a beautiful day for a ride one weekend morning a couple of weeks ago.  Warm, but cloudy and windless.  I was headed east on Panther Creek off Preston, cruising along, when I had one of those what was that? moments.  Something dark but oddly well-defined next to the curb, now receding into the distance behind me

I pedaled back to the shape, excited.  Was it a large speckly spider?

Well, yes  .  .  .


.  .  .  and no.

Sure, it was a wolf spider, which, as spiders go, is large.

But look a little more closely.


At first I thought the same thing you might have thought which was:  Cool, the mama spider is carrying her eggs on her back!  Ain't nature grand?

Two problems with that surmise:  Upon mulling this over for a moment, I thought:  How does a mama spider get eggs on its back like that?  Maybe this was the papa spider, or some spidywhipped boyfriend spider conned into hauling some wolf spider babe's eggs.

Second problem:   On looking into this on my return home, I discovered that a mama wolf spider does carry her eggs around with her, not on her back but in a sac under and to the back of her abdomen, where the eggs come, you know, out, as shown in this image from the Internet:



Which means that those bumps on mama's back are  .  .  .  dozens of baby spider asses.  I was looking not at one spider, but many, some of which were, indeed, itsy bitsy.   Sure enough, here's a genuwine Internet image of a mama wolf spider with spiderlings (which is what one calls a baby spider):


I was hoping she would hang around long enough for me to get a container and catch her to show our grandsons, but on my return trip she was gone.  I did find a burrow nearby which I believe may well have been her home, where she undoubtedly dreamed of the day she would become an empty-nester.

I suspect many of you do not like spiders, and really do not like large spiders, and really really do not like concentrations of lots of spiders in a small area, irrespective of size.

So I will conclude this post with a picture of an adorable Maine Coon kitten, and hope you will check back again soon.



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