The Summer of Rediscovered Pop Music

For me this summer is framed by my rediscovery of pop music. I'm not sure what touched it off - perhaps Jay-Z's inescapable massacre of "Mundian Te Bach Ke" by Panjabi MC (which led me back to the original, a true joy); maybe the disillusionment of Yo La Tengo's first mistep since the 80's with Summer Sun . I turned on the radio, and found little pieces of heaven.

It has been the better part of ten years since I listened to pop radio and heard anything to get excited about. There are exceptions of course - Missy Elliott's output jumps to mind - yet they really are the ones that prove the rule. What to choose from between Tupac and Biggie (guns and Benz and bitches on my tip), and their even less talented followers who ruled urban image in the mid-nineties? Or the bling bling bull of the Cash Money crowd? DMX - the man who even now recycles the "Ruff Ryders' Anthem" into the homophobic rant of "Where the Hood At"?

"Alternative radio" offered nothing better - five years of grunge retreads followed by rap/metal mistakes (didn't anyone learn from Urban Dance Squad or Scatterbrain how to do it well?) and the now ubiquitous Nü-Metal, the path paved and destroyed by Helmet and Faith No More. Its bastard step-child "college radio" didn't do any better, championing Bob Pollard - the man most in need of someone to say "NO!" - and other favorite sons like Malkmus/Pavement (the single most overrated band of the last ten years. Even more than the Strokes), or the entire amalgam of Scottish Twee bands rising listlessly, cardigan in hand, from the limply fertile loins of Belle and Sebastian (Note: I actually like much of Belle and Sebastian's output, except it does all sound much the same and is, undeniably, Twee).

So this summer has brought me back from the brink, to revel in the disposable and the sure to be timeless. "Crazy In Love" probably started it all - it quickly became as inescapable as "Beware of the Boys" - and I was so happy to hear the Vaness Wu Chinese remix (thanks Mr. Perpetua!) which eliminates the weakest part of "Crazy In Love", the ubiquitous Jay-Z. I can't grasp his appeal, much as I try. It's not that he sounds like someone else (a la 50 Cent or Ja Rule or DMX or, well, you get the idea), it's that he seems to not care what beat or rhythm he raps on. Completely oblivious to all around him, just a lost street poet, missing the beat of life. But he has fine things, and he's a rap Midas, for good or bad.

From "Crazy In Love" to "Ignition (Remix)" from the Teflon Don himself, R. Kelly. It's amazing how he sounds so lackadaisical and out of it, yet he brings it strong. It's more of a remake than a remix, and he sounds like he's having fun, enjoying it all, regardless of the trouble he's in. He's just making shit up, flying by the seat of his pants, yet he's always on the beat, flowing even and true. It's a shame that the mediocre "The Best of Both Worlds" didn't at least teach Jay-Z how to find some rhythm.

I also picked up some albums that have me hummin' - Give Up from The Postal Service, The New Pornographers' The Electric Version and the Notwist's Neon Golden. The Postal Service album is a little gem, a light bite of synthesized goodness. You hear that the top chef's are trying to create foods that are just essences, as close to air as possible; Give Up is that airy trifle made music. I heard "Clark Gable" on local independent station WMPG and I knew I needed this album, I needed it's sweet goodness. It is what it is, disposable and indispensable at the same time. I don't understand why I smile so, but I do, and I like it.

The Electric Version charms and beguiles me, at turns attracting and repulsing. I think the first three tracks catch and go - than I hit the Dan Bejar pieces which stop me like a wall. I can't warm to his voice, and the highly vaunted lyrical content is BS 101, as pointless as the purposeful cheese of The Postal Service's "Such Great Heights". It's weird, an album I want to like more, a band I think may be just that talented, and yet they seem to try to be a little too indie, too "credible for the cool", to actually achieve what they aim for. It's that willful sabotage that seems to infect indie guitar rock - the Lou Barlow plan of small world conquest. Cut the first 45 seconds of "From Blown Speakers" and all will fall before them.

Where to place Neon Golden - distinctly approachable, overly arch and cold, unforgettable and capital "I" Important. It sounds to me like what Radiohead was reaching for in their quest for the next evolution of pop music, but they were too self-conscious to get there. You can sing along, even dance to most of it, yet it rewards serious heavy listening, with eyes closed and mind cleared. I had heard "Thrashing Days" last year on an Uncut magazine disc, and was intrigued. Then I was too lazy to import it (or pay for it), and it slipped through the cracks upon release here. It is the hands-down album of the year at this point - I can only hope to hear more of it's caliber.

But how can I end this on such a serious note? Summer is fleeting, and pop music is about anthems that capture that golden moment - a musical snapshot of every summer high (some day remind me to talk about Seal's "Crazy" and the summer after High School graduation). THE song I hold to me for the summer of '03 will be that formerly Dirty Bastard, aka Big Baby Jesus, aka Osiris, the one and only Dirt McGirt, and his Neptune's produced "Pop Shit". It's brilliant - sloppy, catchy, with my favorite Pharrell guest spot, limiting himself to background and chorus, allowing ODB to come back straight from jail to rock the house. Simple guitar loop, Ol' Dirty Bastard's unique flow and natural rhythm, the sound all about the bounce, the bump. Club banger, car rocker, sing-along groover, silly and dirty; "Pop shit, nigger what's up?" How can you take it seriously? It's the official theme song for my new ride - chillin' with the sunroof open, windows down, bangin', smilin' and cold lampin' in my Saab 9000.

Ten for Today

As I write I always listen to music. Today, my muse was quiet (eh? Can't quite hear you - oh, fuck it), so I decided to write "live on hard drive" impressions and feelings of the first ten songs to randomly play from my iTunes library (at this writing, it's 7157 songs, so I really have no idea what will come of this). So, without further ado (I like ado. It heightens the anticipation. Or maybe it just drags things out, like all the ado I am adding to this intro):


Little Bombadier

Oompa Bowie, wonderfully silly and woefully simplistic - the story is very Snoopy and the Red Baron, if Snoopy was a mix between Puff the Magic Dragon and a child molester. It's strange to hear David sing, "Were they just a game?", knowing the way he has played with the public for thirty-odd years.

Jive Talking

In my mind, perhaps one of the few absolutely perfect songs. From a bubbly bass line, a bucka-wucka-wow guitar riff, the always note perfect Barry and the harmony of the brothers' Gibb. Great verses, chorus, keyboard bridge - it is an actual pleasure to hear, a smile impossible to resist. And, cowbells. I love this period of the Bee Gee's music - the pre-disco cusp made of real rock dance songs.

End Of The Line

I miss George Harrison. I never gave him his propers while he was with us (not that he would know), and I've neglected his music to my own detriment. I always felt that Tom Petty benefited the most from the Wilbury's - he seems to lighten up, and not take himself so seriously. He sounds like playing with this guys is fun. Is it me or does Janet Reno look kind of like Roy Orbison? it's those weird jowels on a square head, I think. Why is this out of print? I wish the record companies weren't such fucks.

Electrify

Not a favorite Beastie Boys song - good base sample to form a song around -synthesized organ vamps - however, they keep cutting it short with scratching or other samples. it keeps the song from taking off. I think "Hello Nasty" is a better album now than when it was released - I'm more likely to listen to large chunks (though it's too long) instead of single tracks.

Frankie

The Anthology of Folk Music is the most important CD reissue, period. The cleaning of the tracks allow you to hear the subtleties a bit better, and the exhaustive liner notes (as all Smithsonian sets have) are a true treasure trove. Mississippi John Hurt has such a great voice - though I'm more partial to "Spike Driver Blues", due to my long love of John Henry and American folk tales. America needs it's own mythology - Henry and Pecos Bill and Bunyan aren't enough - we need real myths and legends, a real connection. We're too disposable, and it is to easy to forget the roots...

Oh My God

Is there anyone not looking forward to new Tribe recordings? We need the spirit of Tip and Phife as much as ever - someone needs to kick this played-out gangsta shit to the curb. Best Busta Rhymes sample ever? (hell, the Tribe make Busta's sample into one of his best performances. Is there a more powerful voice than Busta who has done so little with it?)

Maquiladora

Lesser known Radiohead is generally so for a reason. This is not particularly memorable. Though, really, lesser Radiohead is still better than "Alternative" radio in general. It's such a simple song, and kind of a throwaway, and yet, eminently listenable. Does it matter what they do? Is everything after Pablo Honey pretty much a solid piece of work? Why do I only ask, and ask, and ask, and never answer? Because, that makes me seem questioning, mysterious and thoughtful. And it's a great copout.

Bold As Love

Jimi and his turquoise armies assert their dominance. I like hearing Jimi sing as much as play guitar. He sings trancelike and paced to his own internal beat, like a great jazzman, playing around, exploring and divining, then circling back to try another foray from familiar ground. Just ask the Axis...
Plus, one of the best coda's ever.

Indian War Whoop

John Hartford's revamp of the classic by Hoyt Ming and His Pep-Steppers. The Oh, Brother soundtrack is wonderful at distilling all the creepiness from the classic twenties and thirties performances...

Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out

The Replacements, the best American band. Period. Angry, snotty, melodic, sloppy and often poignant. The 'Mats are eminently American, only possible when Kiss and Alex Chilton, the Stones and Skynyrd are all acceptable influences. In the heart of Pop Music you find Paul Westerberg, drinking whiskey then laying it down on the empty bottle, and you smile.

How Do You Cope?

"Ba - baba - ba - ba. Ba - baba - ba - ba."

In a moment of weakness, I fall again to the charms of Julian Cope and "The Greatness And Perfection of Love". Such a perfect sound, a slice of the eighties severed from time and place. The snap happy high toms and snares are a staple of that era of British pop, from XTC to U2 to even INXS (though Aussies) and even UB40 (okay, I couldn't think of another British Band with a silly onomatopoeia-like name. Is there a word for that, using letters to mean words?). At any rate, those bands had a very snap-like drum tone, with a slight echo, and Julian Cope uses a similar sound for "Greatness and Perfection of Love" (hitherto known as the acronym GAPOL. At least I know the term for that!). The guitar figure is, unsurprisingly, very Edge-like in it's staccato stutter - an underlying drive and forward thrust in a song where Julian's singing is floating above it all, very dreamy and almost plush in character. I picture a camera rotating around Julian during the verses, bad dry ice fog and a bad hand-colored animation cavorting around him. Having never seen the video (if he made one - it was a single), I can only imagine its leather-panted goodness in my mind.

The most impressive thing about this is it's great as a Representative Sound. At first hearing, you know you've heard it before, from a thousand bands, a veritable who's who of those lost to the ether, an archetype of all neo-psychedelia before and after. It could be a lost Syd Barrett masterpiece (overproduced for some retrospective), or maybe Echo & the Bunnymen or the Lightning Seeds, or even a side project for Damon Albarn or Robert Schneider. Yet, it's not - it's Saint Julian, inhabiting his own little world, where missives in the form of pop songs are his only way to communicate.

And who are you
To give my life so much meaning
I can’t stand so much meaning

- Julian Cope, GAPOL

Things I Hate (first in a series)

It is important to not only praise that which is worthy of praise, but to scorn and ridicule that which is most unworthy, most heinous, vile and truly evil. Today, I heap righteous indignation and actual, visceral hate at a target most worthy: Meat Loaf. Not the man himself, nor the beef and bread concoction from which he took his name (though, I must say, the foodstuff is in itself a vile thing, yet not truly hate-worthy). In fact, I wish to praise The Loaf for his portrayal of Robert Paulson in Fight Club, where he did not hide from his tremendous Man Boobs and the comfort they provide. No, today's diatribe is reserved for that most vile of recordings, the indefensible Bat Out Of Hell.

First, before anyone's panties get in a bunch, I will not be commenting on the craftsmanship of the recording, as The Loaf gives his all and the band and backup singers are also at the top of their game. Here-here, huzzah and all that. What I am still trying to understand is why oh why anyone would want to listen to it at all.

A bit of history is important here to understand my hatred of BOOH. I grew up in a town of 12,000 or so; the cultural backwater of Lebanon, NH, where it seemed every high school girl discovered Meat Loaf and took him to be their personal savior. It meant that at any social gathering, at some point, day or night, indoors or outdoors, Meat Loaf made an appearance. Every single social event between 13 and 18 involved, at minimum, an all girl sing-along to "Paradise By The Dashboard Light." Now this song is eight minutes plus of torturous faux-fifties Grease inspired theatrical claptrap, with a Phil Rizzuto play-by-play and some moments of guitar power chord bombast, all with an almost bossa nova "Baby let me sleep on it" bridge, followed by much screaming, and me drooling and crying, my musical tastes in some sort of sugar-induced insulin coma, chanting, mantra like, the lines:

I'm praying for the end of time
It's all that I can do
Praying for the end of time,
So I can end my time with you.

This happened at every social gathering, rain or shine. Now, I have always liked theatrics, but I shy away from histrionics. This album is a painful, grating, extremely histrionic brand of theatricality. Instead of Elvis' pleading and passionate "I want you, I need you, I love you" you get the oh so subversive "I want you, I need you, But there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you. Now don't be sad, 'cause two out of three ain't bad." Yes it is! It's horrible, trite, weak and plodding! (that's four for four!) Oh so original, oh so brilliant, oh did Jim Steinman write the book for that witty pox on the theater, Urinetown?(Apparently, Shitsville and Skank Hollow were already taken as titles of that inspired bit of Satire.)

There is some justice in the world, and that justice was served by me, asshole that I am. This is, sadly enough, a very proud and haughty moment in my personal history that I am now sharing with you all. Let me set the stage, so to speak. In high school, after some knee injuries and the realization that I was not gifted with great athletic prowess, I joined up with the Drama Club (Honest moment - there were a few girls I found attractive that were in the club, so there were ulterior motives). Alas, the Drama Club also came with the aforementioned "Meat Loaf Moments." So, for three years I endured The Loaf stoically, at every post performance party or set building afternoon. That ended my senior year, when I had some power over the younger whelps who had run afoul of our cursed crew.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and music was playing as we constructed the sets. I had been trying to influence the group through mixed tapes, with songs by Jane's Addiction, Iggy Pop, The Time, The Cure, Mudhoney and whatever other favorites I had at the time (does anyone still have a copy of my "Ill met by Moonlight..." mix?). However, mixed tapes were only good for a few hours at most, and then people would tire and want to play "their own music." So we would listen to Billy Jo-el (Kal-el's hillbilly cousin), Simon & Garfunkel, Bad Company, and, inevitably, Meat Loaf. These "other people" didn't understand my loathing, or to what lengths I would go to stop BOOH. The mistake they made was the compact disc. Unlike a tape, with enough effort and vibration a CD will skip like a motherfucker. So, in my infinite petty wisdom, I chose to jump up and down, near the CD player, and the vibrations from my then 220 lb. frame sent the CD into a tizzy. I didn't stop jumping until the CD just stopped playing altogether. They begged and pleaded, and in my madness, I said, "If you insist on playing Meat Loaf, I will insist on jumping and causing it to skip each and every time. There is no compromise." Which immediately caused a girl to cry, with great rivulets of tears and snot-filled sobs. This caused multiple young women to leave the room, crying and comforting each other. I was so proud of the pain I caused them, and I am still glad, and it brings a smile to my face to this day.

I hate Bat Out Of Hell. I truly, truly do.

Krista & I

Now, Krista and I have lived down here in Maine near three years. No, I'm sorry there, we been here just over them three years I mentioned earlier. As you may know, I was born and raised here in New England, though not here in Maine in particular, mind you, but that there is another story. No, I am definitely from Northern stock, and my native desire to return to these parts was not entirely unexpected. What was, however, unexpected, was that Krista, that being my wife, who is most definitely not from these parts, would also, after being here a while now, come to appreciate and understand it's appeal.

Yet, I must say, there are certain parts of being a Yankee that Krista just wasn't ready for. Now, for example, let's talk about the weather. Talking about the weather is more than a habit down here. Why, if you don't talk about the weather, you just don't have a way to place today amongst all them other days. Today is always hotter, or maybe a little breezier, cooler or cloudier than some other, that other day being yesterday, last week, last year, or back in '78. There are even some people you might call seers, who have the ability to compare the weather to possible future weather. Most of these people either have a Farmer's Almanac handy, or have seen the latest forecast of Dave Santoro. Now, if you don't know Dave, why then you must not be from around these parts. That Dave Santoro, why, he's a wicked good forecaster. It must be all them computers and radars.

While now, as I was saying, Krista just wasn't prepared for Winter, being raised in the Nation's Capital and all. But I must say, she took to shoveling like it was the natural state of things. I made sure she got a good jacket from L.L. Bean to get her through, and the one she picked makes her look like a little Eskimo, according to my Dad. She's made it through a good snowy Winter and a bitter cold one, so now we're just waiting for a bitter cold and snowy Winter to say she's "Gone native."

So, she was saying to me just the other day, she said, "Erik, I think I really like it here and, you know, this could be a place we could call home." Now, I was thinking along the same lines, but hadn't wanted to say anything, because moving down here was my idea and I didn't want to be forcing the issue. However, when she says to me, "I think I want to settle down here," why, I was quick to say that I had been having thoughts of a similar nature. So, now that it's all out in the open, we have been spending some time looking around at where exactly we might want to be. I think, if we take our time with the looking, why, we should find a place that's just right.

Though, thinking about settling in, you know, putting down some roots, made me realize that there was something about Maine she just didn't know about. So, with a bit of searching and a little head scratching, there being nothing more natural than a little scratching or tugging at the beard when doing some puzzling out of things, I found the best way to introduce Krista to another side of Maine. I stopped down at the Library, it being open late on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I got a CD for her to listen to. Now, last night it was raining, maybe not as hard as it had earlier in the week, and nowhere near as heavy a rain as was coming down this morning, but it was a steady kind of summer rain, and Krista and I didn't have any set plans. Understand, it's not that the rain interrupted plans, just that there were certain things we just were not going to be doing in the rain, which ended up being just fine. Fine, in particular, in that it allowed me to share something kind of special to Maine, though, I must say, appreciated by other Northern New Englanders.

Yes, I admit, we sat down and listened to Bert & I.

50 Cent

A few months ago over at The Devils' Radio I did a straight listen and comment on Yo La Tengo's Summer Sun. Today, I revisit that concept of listening straight through an album and writing as I go along with 50 Cent's recent Get Rich Or Die Tryin'. Here goes the next hour and change of my life:

The intro is fine, with some change settling on a surface and a gun being cocked.
"What Up Gangsta" starts the album. Is 50 having trouble finding the beat? He seems to start on time and as the verses continue he seems to go as long as the line is written, regardless of beat. Strange. I'm not sure why the ball-grabbing "Gang-STAH" of the chorus. Middling.

An Eminem call out starts "Patiently Waiting" - same issues with lyrics fitting tempo, stopping or starting as the line reaches its end. I wonder if 50 can come in on a beat but can't keep it because he's not good enough or whether he doesn't care. Eminem taking the second verse makes 50 sound amateur - he works his lines in and out of the music, changing emphasis line to line, shifting weight from line to line, like an anxious linebacker. Weak chorus, though I like 50's sing-song styling better than the straight rap speak of the verses. I think of Warren G and Nate Dogg doing regulate when I hear the chorus - I think it's the very West Coast sound with the sing-song choral style.

Gunshots - surprise, surprise. Interesting - starting with the long extended chorus makes "Many Men" seem a little different. Again, I'm not liking his style much, like a more thuggish Jay-Z as far as the lackadaisical delivery. Great chorus though. After three minutes I'm wondering why so many good ideas get stretched beyond their means. Love the little piano figure at the end of the chorus.

Shorty, It's your birthday. "In Da Club" has a great Dre beat - almost an early 90's techno stab. 50 is better at quicker tempos - his delivery is more trancelike and smooth, without the forced emphasis. he doesn't imitate Em or Jay-Z or anyone else on this - it's his sound, he's comfortable here, enjoying the vibe. I'm into having sex, not into making love. The guitar figure that appears at the end is sharp.

"High All The Time" - not the speed of "In Da Club" but quick - chorus is again early 90's West Coast - That's it! Domino! Very reminiscent. Always liked Domino - "Getto Jam" was ahead of it's time - apparently 10 years, based on this album. How many odes to drug use and violence do we need. It's kind of sad - it's not like this stuff wasn't tired and played out before Tupac and Biggie went belly up. I wish, I wish, for something new...

I got over ten more songs? Damn.

"Heat" - some dumb skit for 30 seconds, then organ stabs, and 50 ain't playin'. Dre is redeeming this album big time - top notch production on the whole, mediocre front man. Again, this is Played Out. Though using the sound of chambering a 9mm as a rhythmic device is interesting. 50 doesn't have his happy go lucky sound from "In Da Club" - he sounds like he wants people to understand that shooting people and not taking any shit is real. Sad.

Back to bragging about his badass self with "If I Can't". Great chorus - I'm a sucker for anything that ends with "Baby" - and good piano stabs from Dre throughout. Long three minutes.

An aside: I like Dre's production, even if it's amazingly minimal in parts. I always have leaned more toward the fuller production sound of, for example, Prince Paul or the Bomb Squad, yet Dre has had an amazingly strong and consistent style that is almost the opposite - clean and simple, yet there is always just enough going on to be interesting when the artist in front is not.

"Blood Hound" - can you say filler? At least instead of picking a collaborator that makes him look clueless like Eminem, 50 here raps with Young Buck of G Unit. Remind me to stay away from G Unit. I think it's Young Buck who barks.

A G Unit call out at the beginning of "Back Down", which segues seamlessly from the prior track. However, it sounds like filler as well. I'm going to have to look at the credits after - I think Blood Hound isn't Dre. No tell-tale piano/organ stabs, which seem to be the unifying sound (along with multitracking 50 to make his voice sound less flat and uniform). the "G Unit" call outs are really, really bad "G Unit!" What is with the gay stereotype at the end of this?

"P.I.M.P." - I realize that I have heard 6 songs from this so far on the radio, and yet I couldn't have told you any of them were 50 Cent except this one and "In Da Club". I like the steel drum - it plays a Dre piano figure! Great idea though - it's like a more slinky Dwalli thing (isn't that the name of the inescapable Jamaican rhythm? I may check the spelling later). Makes me miss Billy Ocean. He should make a comeback.

"Like My Style" - another piece with a G Unit flunky making 50 look good. I think I heard this already. Is that good or bad?

"Poor Lil' Rich" has a different sound - definitely not Dre. He's doing that weird falsetto rise in the chorus - it's like three 50's singing "Nig-GAH", sort of like a question, but not an intentional one. Worst song so far, which is saying something. I'm thinking he's shooting lots of blanks, like some sort of posturing peacock with a gat.

"21 Questions" uses a guitar figure in place of the piano stabs for a similar effect. Hey, that's Nate Dogg on chorus, not 50's impression of Nate Dogg! Improvement. "I love you like a fat kid loves cake." Again, doesn't anyone understand that if your going to repeat a riff ad infinitum, you should make the song shorter. This one has a 30 second fade out that doesn't fade out until the last five seconds. Almost good, potential for great in this one. Or maybe that's the last 5 songs making shit shine.

"Don't Push Me" - is 50 cent a fan of Gary Numan? - cheesy eighties keyboard chords hold this on together like cheesy glue. I'm not sure if that's a theremin warbling after the chorus - no, I think it's a keyboard doing a tremolo wobble. Would have been cool though. maybe that's my calling - Theremin rapper. Oh, here's Eminem outclassing his protege. Again, he shows how adaptable and masterful he is, even on throwaway lyrics like these.

Bad, bad keyboard. Bad keyboard. You know that synthesized orchestra sound that ruled late eighties house? Then was cut and truncated for tracks like "James Brown is Dead?" The keyboard in "Gotta Make It To Heaven" is like that, only worse. 50 is getting lost in this - too much production. Keyboard stabs and orchestra, drums, handclaps, bongos, Space Invaders sound effects. It's like Dre and Tupac's "California" done flat and bland.

Bonus Cuts:

"Wankster": Just what this needs, more filler. "You're a Wankster" - um, takes one to know one? I want good music! If I'm going to have to listen to someone who has nothing new to say, say it a new way! It's not like Eminem is the most original guy out there - he has his moments, but a lot of his songs are just his versions of the "I'm the illest MF". Yet, he seems original because of his music and delivery. He makes the tropes his, not like 50 here.

"U Not Like Me". No shit. I haven't been shot for doing stupid, stupid things. Most of America, and all the little white boys buying this up, aren't like you, and don't want to do all the crime and crap U Done. By god you're dumb and loud.

Ok, I don't get this at all. He's a little talent (not no talent - there are a few passing songs, and "In Da Club" is downright great), sharing a stage with more important and talented artists (like Dre and Em).

He sums it up nicely "Nobody likes me, that's ok/'Cause I don't like y'all anyway - fuck all y'all" to start "Life's On The Line." I'm done with this. 50 Cent ain't worth two bits.

Phoning It In

There is plenty of actual, real, important news stories to write about. There are journalists "working their connections," "pounding the pavement" and "calling in favors" to get that next headline, that next cover story. Then there's Jayson Blair who just flat out makes shit up. Me, I'm somewhere in between. I take the news other people work their asses off reporting, read the educated professional commentary about those reports, and then I make shit up about them. So I'm not like Jayson Blair at all - I'm not making up news, I'm making up commentary about the commentary about the news. That's like a Kevin Bacon level of separation from making up news.

Today's commentaries are courtesy of Kevin Drum and the always well-reasoned Josh Marshall (The entry you want is August 4th, 1:04PM. He seems to have fudged his permalink). Now, I know neither of these men (as is most often the case) though I find them both engaging writers and astute observers. However, neither men make the best of the opportunity presented by this Bush/Clinton hating comparison. They miss simple facts:

1. Clinton was elected, and the Newties couldn't handle it after 12 years of Reaganite (keeps Democratic would-be Supermen weak, docile and impotent) rule.

2. Bush was not elected but appointed, and that's a bunch of horse pocky.

3. Clinton had George Snuffleupagus, Bush had Ari Fleischer. HUGE hair follicle difference. Bald people are hateful people.

4. Bush is a slacker, taking off nearly 27 percent of his presidency, while Clinton was working, hard, in the Oval Office.

5. I was one of the 50, 996, 039 who voted for Gore vs. the 50, 456,141 who voted for Bush. I am part of the majority.

The list could go on and on, ad infinitum. Not if I was writing it, mind you, as I pretty much fizzled after George Snuffleupagus. Though I think George's eyebrows are more pronounced than his hirsute muppet namesake.

I didn't have squat today, and I'm sorry. I erased, deleted, shredded, circular filed (ad nauseam, ad infinitum destructo, etc) a much longer earlier post that made fun of J-Lo's butt. Oh well, them's the breaks.