Ghetto-Fabulous

Hooray for me! I get to beat Whatever-Dude to the punch on the VMA's. Of course, I can't hope to match earlier efforts such as this and this because I didn't actually watch them. I've reached a point in my life where I no longer need to watch award shows to know what's going to happen. The predictable winners, the predictably unorthodox costumes, the funnyman struggling to keep up the impression that this is all so hip and fresh, I've seen it, and I need see it no more. Still, judging strictly by this Washington Post write-up, there were some interesting conclusions to be garnered from the evening's show.




1. Lesbian chic is so five years ago. And behold, Her Anglophilic Majesty, Madonna, descended from the heavens to accept tribute from two Whores, thus rendering a long-standing pyschological complex in spandex and glitter. Spearguilera (Christina may have actual pipes and a rougher image, but beyond that it's pointless bothering to tell them apart) performed "Like a Virgin," no doubt covered in see-through lace and clangingly obvious irony. And then she kissed them both, with tongue. And...


...yeah. I'm bored even trying to comment. Let's press on.




2. Anyone can be a Rap Star if he can manages to not look completely laughable in leopard skin. Can 50 Cent actually rap? Has anyone heard him? Does he ever perform, even in a video, without Snoop Dogg and a whole "posse" (We're still using this term? I thought it had been appropriated by white people long ago, and therefore anathema to the hip-hop community) with him? Has he said anything that other acts haven't said before?


I thought not.




3. Michael Jackson is the new Vanilla Ice. Jack Black did a Jacko impression last night; Eminem mocked him last week. It's open season, not just among the commonfolk, but among the Olympian stars. How the mighty are fallen.




4. Johnny Cash is almost good enough to win a VMA. He lost to Justin Timberlake. I think that says it all.

More Strategery

It's been whispered here and there that Dubya's deficit spending is a way to force liberals to stay honest -- the next Democrat that occupies the White House won't be able to construct grand new social visions because the money won't be there. Maybe that's true and maybe it's not. But it occurred to me today while reading Nick Schultz's blog in NRO's Corner. Bush is a big supporter of the prescription drug benefit for seniors (because, you know, drugs are so cheap and affordable for the rest of us). And the liabilities to be incurred by our existing entitlements are, according to Schultz, to come between $30 and 50 billion. I wonder if Bush is trying to force the issue, make plain the reality that there's only so much entitlement we can afford, and that it's time to de-Kaynesify. Can it be the old boy is forcing Atlas to shrug?

Welcome to the Land of Sweat

My classroom is an oven. Words such as hot, humid, sauna-like are but dim reflections of my current climate. I watch the kids wilt as the class continues; who can blame them for wanting to escape and breath fresh air? Blah.


See, this is why blogging is good. Come December, I'm going to be able to look back and smile at what I've written, wishing as my knuckles freeze that such warmth would return.

The Gang that Couldn't Shoot Straight

Republicans have really messed up this time, in California. Bustamante is ahead of Arnold in the polls, and its for the good and simple reason that conservatives have pulled an "icky" face at him. Schwarzenegger may not be the ideal conservative, but he's to the right of Gray Davis, and isn't that what we want? This is the same way that they lost last year's election, and thus failing to oust the worst, least popular governor in California history: by being too much interested in playing More-Conservative-Than-Thou and too little interested in presenting viable, positive alternatives to the Davis Mafia. Now watch them screw it up again. Morons.

I might have mentioned...

...that I was disappearing for part of the week to Minnesota. But more likely I didn't. Apologies.




Apparently the Senate has declared 2003 to be the Year of the Blues, according to an article in today's Washington Post Magazine. The focus of the story is the trials and tribulations of Linwood Taylor, a local bluesman and guitar virtuoso who somehow can't seem to sing the blues. So far, so journalistic.


What sticks in my craw is an offhand quote made by Bob Santinelli, owner of a music house in Seattle and permanent 60's nostalgia-man (because, you know, we've got a real shortage of 60's nostalgia in this country). Here it is:

"I want this music to thrive," Santelli says. "The blues is the bedrock of American popular music. As most of its legends and stars grow old and die, this musical form needs a shot in the arm to allow it to compete with other forms. I grew up in the Sixties, so thanks to the Rolling Stones and Cream, I got into Muddy Waters. But young people today haven't been exposed to it." For the blues to thrive, somebody has to recruit listeners

You may think me geeky, but this kind of nonsense infuriates me. Has this silly sonofabitch ever heard of Nirvana? That whole grunge scene was all about bringing the fury of the blues back to a thin and weedy American rock scene. Their Unplugged show back in '94 was the best blues concert since B.B. King played the Regal. Or how about the White Stripes? Check out this month's Spin for a full-on expose of how Meg and Jack became the biggest-selling band in rock, and what Jack was inspired by (*cough*Son House*cough*). Anyone who can't hear the blues on "White Blood Cells," or "Elephant" (500,000 copies sold to date) does not know from the blues. I'm not even going to mention Phish and the whole vibe scene, where blues flowers night by night.


Santinelli is right that the blues is the bedrock of American music. I've said so myself. But it doesn't need a special year from Congress to flourish (although that's a great deal more useful than most things Congress does). All it needs is for haughty Boomers (especially those that run record companies) to get off their high horse and realize that music didn't stop in 1980, that the kids are listening, and that the good stuff will out.


Rant over.

RIAA, Part ?‡

Senator Coleman's issues with the record boys have apparently borne fruit, according to this article. The RIAA execs have assure Coleman that they are not targeting "small" downloaders, just the kingpins. Naturally they won't say what the bar is between being a "small" downloader and one who downloads "as substantial amount."


They're either backpedalling, or they never were planning on going after everybody, or they're testing the waters. Either way, I'm not backing off the boycott.

Did I mention...

...that meetings suck? They do. Especially faculty meetings wherein we gamely attempt to reinvent the wheel, as though we might suddenly happen upon the magic shibboleth that will transform horny, zoned-out teens into the Vanguard of the New Tommorrow™. Frankly, I could make much better use of the time in my classroom, actually putting time and thought into my lessons.


On the other hand, the faculty got their first glimpse of the New Sherrif. Our incoming President, Fr. Tipton S.J., shared with us some of the things he's changed and his vision for the school. He is a serious man, not in the sense that he isn't funny (he is), but in the sense that he suits his words to his actions and his actions to the realities around him. It may be too early to say, but I think we're in good hands.

Clueless

A few days ago I caught a story on the Drudge Report that caught my eye and turned my stomach, rendering me twisted. Here it is. Apparently child prostitution isn't just for poor kids anymore. The FBI's claiming a 70 percent increase in prostitutes coming from middle- and upper-class neighborhoods, and not necessarily from the houses where Mommy drinks too much and Daddy does naughty things at night. Here's the kicker:

"Potentially good sex is a small price to pay for the freedom to spend money on what I want," says 17-year-old Stacey [not her real name], who liked to hang out after school at the Mall of America, Minnesota's vast shopping megaplex, Newsweek reports. After being approached last summer by a man who told her how pretty she was, and asked if he could buy her some clothes, Stacey agreed and went home that night with a $250 outfit.

Stacey, who lives with her parents in an upscale neighborhood, began stripping for men in hotel rooms -- then went on to more intimate activities.

And the child welfare advocates don't get it. This doesn't fit their equation: poor + abuse + drugs = prostitution. Why would a girl who has everything she needs sell her body? This isn't the way it's supposed to work.


Here's where I get all scoldy. Why shouldn't Stacey take the chance at "potentially good sex" in exchange for the things she wants (not needs, wants)? I think I know, and you might, but does Stacey? Has Stacey grown up in a world where "potentially good sex" wasn't considered the highest good? Has Stacey ever seen people suffer consequences for seeking whatever they might feel like seeking? Has Stacey not been bombarded with sexual imagery since she was old enough to tell the difference. To Stacey, and to a lot more of our young people than we like to admit, sex is just something you do. It has no weight, purpose, or value except as a scratch to an itch.


I'll bet this diatribe sounds familiar to you. Annoying people in garishly colored clothes and terrifying hairstyles have been throwing out phrases like this for some time. And we toss them aside, because they're painful to look at, and we can quickly run through the advocatus diaboli routine from "Inherit the Wind." Sure, we're a lot of fornicators, but we still honor the mom and pop; we haven't murdered anybody today (althought J.Lo needs to watch her ass. I mean: damn, girl); what's the big? Birds do it; bees do it; the President of the United States flavors his stogies with fresh secretarial vaginal juice; let's just get drunk and screw and let it be.


I'm not just pointing fingers. I haven't exactly been writing letters to the editor about all the bikini models being routinely tortured by Joe Rogan on "Fear Factor" (Joe is of course, on his way to take over Man Show duties from the previous two beer monsters, together with some other dink. And American manhood is saved). Blood flows through these veins of mine, and I do like the scenery offered by soft and beautiful female flesh. I've even sat through the occasional Britney video with the mute on. I'm not made of stone, and I'm not looking forward to a Baptist Taliban taking over.


I'm really just wondering why we can't find a happy medium between the tyranny of sexual shame and the nauseating maw of sexual depravity. Because until we find that medium, we better get used to Stacey and a million girls like her. They have learned what we have taught.

More lame excuses...

Work. Work work work work work. I still have the rant, but I have not the energy. Tommorrow, I swear.

Unexpected Downtime...

...due to that damn worm that's been screwing with a lot of Dell PC's these past couple of days. I got the patch by signing on with AOL (not my favorite thing to do), and now I'm fine. Mebbe I should consider upping my security provisions.


Anyway, I have a good-size rant in the works for tommorrow, and I'm thinking of altering the decor around here, especially with the color scheme. Right now the place looks like an Andrew Sullivan knock-off. I'm thinking...grey?

Back!

They say that North Carolina's Outer Banks are the Graveyard of the Atlantic. All I know is the water is damn cold for summer. Wonderful weekend of near-constant imbibing and consuming, plus lots of pictures of the angry ocean. Hopefully I recover from the former and manage to get the latter properly developed. I wonder if Picture CD's are the way to go?

I couldn't resist...

Flipping through the Catholic Standard after mowing the lawn, I stumble across an article on Mel Gibson visiting the office of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops, who have been going through the little but-someone-might-be-offended routine regarding Gibson's film about the Crucifixion. I read the article, which was cursory, but it mentioned the critique by Paula Frederiksen of The New Republic, who basically declared the film anti-Semitic.


I had an opportunity to see Ms. Frederiksen on Bill O'Reilly a few nights ago, and I was struck by her argument that Pontius Pilate would have felt no obligation to please the Sanhedrin by executing a man who had violated no Roman law. That is, it struck me as being incredibly naive. The ancient Jews were habitually hostile to the Roman occupation: they'd actually thrown out the Seluccid Greeks in 67 B.C., and here was this Jewish religious adventurer showing up in Jerusalem on the feast of passover: Pilate wouldn't have been concerned because...?


That aside, my purpose isn't really to argue the historical evidence but to make an analogy. There are a lot of people who seem to be upset that telling an unvarnished account (which is to say, the story as the Gospels put it) of the Passion of Christ might lead to something bad. And two thousand years ago, Both Pilate and the Sanhedrin believed that letting this redneck from Galilee speak his mind might lead to something bad. I'm not proposing that Mel Gibson = Jesus. I'm just interested to note that certain things never do seem to change.


Okay. I'm really leaving now. Bu-Bye.

Vacation

I'm heading down to North Carolina with some palsies on the morrow, and I won't be back until Sunday, and I've a bit to do today, so absent anything major coming across the bows, I'll be signing off.




So hang in there, and I shall blog presently.

Off With Their Heads!

Word around the campfire is that the Affleck/Lopez vehicle "Gigli" is heading for box-office bombitude on the levels of "Ishtar" or "Waterworld," i.e., films that don't just flop, they flop in a truly embarrassing manner. I can only say I have prayed for it to be so, and this piece in the Onion encourages my hope. You see, boys and girls, there's been a bit of a backlash against those two overexposed mediocrities, and internet culture has been a prime mover in that. Observe this denunciation from the famously high-brow, low-blow Whatever-Dude.com. Dated from April of this year, it renders the absurdity of "Gigli," perfectly, as only a succint description of a lame plot can:

The movie stars Jennifer Lopez as a lesbian hitman, Ben Affleck as the hitman with morals that converts her to heterosexuality, and a mentally retarded guy that Affleck and Lopez kidnap and take on a road trip. Do I even need to make jokes about this? Lopez as lesbian hitwoman? Affleck as the manly man that’s so manly that he reforms her wayward homo ways through the power of his manhood? The kidnap a mentally retarded person and take them on a nutty comedic road trip bit?

The article closed with a horrifying account of Bennifer's next film after "Gigli," and Kevin Smith's "Jersey Girl," (read it, if you have the stomach) and in doing so, convinced me of their utter wrongness and unfitness to appear in films in my native land. Are these two media whores somehow not satisfied with sucking on their own? Do they have to take poor Kevin Smith down with them? Do they have to dirty one of the great achievements in American cinema with their attempt to re-make it as a vehicle for themselves? I would ask if nothing was sacred, but I was convinced of the answer to that long ago.


What's sacred is righteous indignation in the face of self-idolatry. Let's hope "Gigli" becomes the bomb that destroys them.

New Reviews

Two of my new reviews just got loaded up at PunkFix, one for Television and one for the MC5. The links will tell you all you need to know.


Happy Monday.

GOPRIAA?

I've mentioned it before, and I don't get it. Why on earth would GOP lawmakers give the Recording Industry Association of America the time of day? They don't fund Republican electoral campaigns; they don't reflect the kind of values that the GOP says it believes in. On the face of it, sure, it looks like a cut-and-dry property-rights situation. But there's piracy and there's piracy, and I have yet to be convinced that file-swapping violates fair-use. So, it's a bit depressing that a former GOP staffer will be taking over as RIAA's chief executive.


But perhaps all is not lost. Senator Norm Coleman (R-Mn) just sent a critical letter to the punters, suggesting that their scattershot litigation might be off the mark. Interesting...