Category Archives: Popular culture

Dick Winters is gone, and I never did shake his hand…

Dick Winters has died. “Captain Winters,” I think of him as, from the time when he commanded Easy Company of the 506th PIR,101st Airborne Division — although on D-Day, the day on which his actions should have earned the Congressional Medal of Honor, he was still a lieutenant, and by the time the company had captured Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest he was a major, and battalion commander.

Yes, the guy who was the main character in “Band of Brothers.”

He was a peaceful, modest man who, when war was thrust upon him and the rest of the world, discovered talents and personal resources that would otherwise likely have gone unsuspected. The video clips above and below, with actor Damien Lewis in the role of Winters, perfectly illustrates the qualities that Stephen Ambrose described in the book that inspired the series: Mainly, an uncanny coolness under fire, and certain, unhesitating knowledge of exactly what to do in a given situation — knowledge which he quickly and effectively communicated to his men in real time, with a minimum of fuss. The video clips show how Winters led a tiny remnant of Easy Company (of which he was only acting commander, since the CO was missing, later found to be dead) to take several well-defended, entrenched guns trained on Utah Beach — saving untold numbers of GIs — with only a couple of casualties among his own men. This was on his very first day in combat. The action is used today at West Point as an illustration of how to take a fixed position.

This guy has long been associated in my mind with the definition of the word, “hero.”

In later years, when he was interviewed in old age about the things that happened in 1944-45, you could still see the manner of man he was. His manner was that of a man you’d be confident to follow, a man you’d want to follow if you had to go to war, while at the same time being perfectly modest and soft-spoken about it. And on this link you’ll see what some of his men thought of him.

As I wrote about him last year:

Over the last few years I had occasion to visit central Pennsylvania multiple times, while my daughter was attending a ballet school up there. Almost every time I went there, I thought about going over to Hershey to try to talk to Dick Winters, the legendary commander of Easy Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment in the 101st Airborne Division during World War II. He was the leader — one of several leaders, but the one everyone remembers as the best — of the company immortalized in Stephen Ambrose’s book Band of Brothers, and the HBO series of the same name (the best series ever made for television).

But I never did. As much as I wanted just to meet him, to shake his hand once, I never did. And there’s a reason for that. A little while ago, I was reminded of that reason. The History Channel showed a special about D-Day, and one of the narrators was Winters, speaking on camera about 60 years after the events. He spoke in that calm, understated way he’s always had about his heroics that day — he should have received the Medal of Honor for taking out those 105mm pieces aimed at Utah Beach, but an arbitrary cap of one per division had been place on them, so he “only” received the Distinguished Service Cross.

Then, he got a little choked up about what he did that night, having been up for two days, and fighting since midnight. He got down on his knees and thanked God for getting him through that day. Then he promised that, if only he could get home again, he would find a quiet place to live, and live out the rest of his life in peace.

I figure a guy who’s done what he did — that day and during the months after, through the fighting around Bastogne and beyond into Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest itself — deserved to get his wish. He should be left in peace, and not bothered by me or anyone else.

So I’ve never tried to interview him.

Well, I never did impose upon him to get that handshake, even though I’ve been to his general neighborhood again since I wrote that. And that causes me now a mixture of satisfaction and regret.

I read the leader today, oh boy…

All right, so it wasn’t properly a leader, but a column. I just wanted to add some British idiom to my allusion

Thought y’all might be interested in this item in The Guardian today (over breakfast at our B&B in Oxford, my wife was reading The Times and I had The Guardian — which I had run next door to the off-licence to get — but she never gave up The Times).

We never got around to visiting the Abbey Road crossing in London, even though it wasn’t far from where we were staying. I sort of lost interest after reading that the local council had moved the zebra crossing so that it wasn’t the real one. But I’ve been bemused at how they do go on about The Beatles here. I had sort of thought they had faded from memory here, rather the way one never saw much about Elvis in Memphis until after he died (I know, I lived there then).

That’s mostly because there have been two recent news items. The first was that the Abbey Road crossing was recently given Grade II historic status — even though it’s the wrong place. The second was that a Tory minister wants to protect Ringo Starr’s birthplace in Liverpool from demolition.

So today’s columnist wrote a piece headlined, “I am a Beatles obsessive. But let’s cut the Fabs-worship.” And quite right he is, even though I love the Beatles. As he wrote,

Such, anyway, is yet another episode in a story that has long since ballooned into absurdity: the transformation of the Beatles into a national religion – arguably bigger than Jesus, as John Lennon infamously put it. X Factor contestants must, by law, deliver warblesome readings of Let It Be and The Long and Winding Road; each time Sir Paul McCartney ventures out to hack out his versions of the hits, the public is encouraged to think something miraculous is afoot; Yoko Ono, bless her, keeps the posthumous Lennon machine grinding on.

In Liverpool, meanwhile, delusions of post-industrialism have reached their apogee in the idea that Beatledom can be a substitute for a lost mercantile past. It’s all there: John Lennon international airport, the Hard Day’s Night Hotel, the “Magical Mystery Tour” that wends around the city, even a Fabs-themed Starbucks — though judging by the forlorn atmosphere of too many of the surrounding streets, Beatles-driven regeneration really isn’t working. Funny, that.

Yes, isn’t it? He goes on to note that not ALL Beatles music is iconic:

Moreover, the idea of the Beatles as all-dominating titans had yet to take root: well away from their legacy, music developed on its own terms. These days, by contrast, they use up so much of the cultural air that we seem little able to breathe. There must be more to life than nodding-dog piano ballads of the Hey Jude variety, but there are times when they seem to define a good 50% of the mainstream. For all their inventive wonderment, one would imagine that I Am the Walrus, Happiness Is a Warm Gun and Helter Skelter left at least some of rock’s more creative possibilities unexplored, though listening to the bulk of even supposedly cutting-edge music, you’d never know.

Indeed. Then, he ends,

In 1970, John Lennon said this: “It’s just a rock group that split up, it’s nothing important – you can have all the records if you want to reminisce.” The words crumble next to his group’s myth, but they also speak an undeniable truth — which is why the 72% of local people who are reportedly OK with the Madryn Street demolition ought to have their wishes respected, and life should go on. And one other thing: Ringo was the drummer, remember.

I’m not sure what he meant by that last bit. As “Paul’s grandfather,” the clean old man, observed in “A Hard Day’s Night,” where would they be without his steady beat. But I thought the piece was food for thought.

I found “Championship Vinyl” (and you can’t prove I didn’t)

See where it says "shop to let"? And do you see any window-shoppers?

Well, I told you I would find the former site of “Championship Vinyl,” the record shop in High Fidelity, and I did. And no one (except maybe Nick Hornby) can tell me I’m wrong.

It satisfies the criteria:

  1. It’s in Holloway.
  2. It’s just off the Seven Sisters Road.
  3. It’s in a location that guarantees the “minimum of window-shoppers” — in other words, the only customers are those geeky young males who go out of their way to seek the place out.
  4. I was looking for a vacant space, on the theory that since the book was published 15 years ago, and since Rob was trending toward changing his life for the better toward the end, that he would have moved on from running the store, or moved it to a better location, or something by now. I mean, he and Laura would have some kids by now. Any road, this is a good theory for me to have to explain that it’s not actually there, since, you know, it never really existed.

I made up that last criterion, but the first three are in the book.

So, you ladies are wondering — just how patient is my wife, to go along to places like this? Well, she didn’t. This was the one thing I did

Unfortunately, the souvenir shop wasn't open. I had wanted one of those scarves...

on my own. Today was the day we were leaving London for Oxford, and she just wanted to get up and get ready. So I got up before she did, hopped the Jubilee line down to Green Park and got on the Picadilly way out to Islington, to Holloway Road, and hiked over to Seven Sisters.

Then, after “finding” Championship Vinyl (it was the first street off Seven Sisters with some actual commercial fronts off the main road) on Hornsey Road, I walked back east until I got to Arsenal Stadium, the scene of other Hornby tales. At Arsenal, at least, I wasn’t the only geek taking pictures of the stadium — but the others were English football fans. One guy was having his wife take his picture there while she tried to keep the kids in order.

After I found the Arsenal Tube station (this required asking directions four times, twice from people who did not speak English), I rode back to our stop, and left Swiss Cottage station with sadness. I really, really love the Underground. (There’s no other way I could have gone all the way to Islington in a city this crowded and done all that walking about and gotten back in less than two hours.)

When I got back, J had packed for both of us, and we took a taxi to Victoria Coach Station for the ride to Oxford. Come to think of it, she really is enormously patient with me…

Oh, and if you wonder why I would want to do this… well, you just have to read High Fidelity. The movie was great, but the novel was much better.

Or maybe THIS is it, a couple of doors down. I can see how experts could in good faith disagree...

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Tourist

Sitting in the Detroit airport, thinking about our eventual destination…

Maybe I’m not, as friends and family seem to think, Jethro. But I am an … idiosyncratic sort of tourist.

Sure, I want to see the usual things in and around London – the Tower, the Bridge, maybe Stonehenge when we get out of town. My granddaughter wants to see Mme. Tussaud’s. I will also reluctantly accompany her onto The Eye, even though the smallest carnival Ferris Wheels give me the fantods.

But I hope she and my wife will indulge me on a few somewhat more oblique digressions.

My notion of what to see Over There is heavily influenced by fiction. This means that I want to see places where people who never actually existed didn’t actually do the things that I read about. That means some of these sights aren’t much to look at, while some are entirely imaginary. But I want to see where they would be if they did exist. Hard to explain.

I’m not entirely alone in this. Some of the more esoteric (I thought) sights have been sought out by other fiction geeks ahead of me – which will save me time in “finding” them. Others are a bit more problematic.

Some examples:

  • The one that causes the most eyebrow-raising when I mention it (so I’ve stopped mentioning it) is Championship Vinyl. You know, the record shop in High Fidelity. Yes, I know it’s not real. But I want to find where it would be if it did exist. Fortunately, Nick Hornby supplies some good clues (“We’re in a quiet street in Holloway, carefully placed to attract the b are minimum of window-shoppers…” near Seven Sisters Road…). When I find the perfect location, I suspect it will be a vacant storefront or some such. Nevertheless, I’ll take a picture to prove I “found” it. And if I don’t find a likely location, I’ll console myself by heading over a few blocks to Arsenal Stadium (Fever Pitch).
  • I had thought no one else would ever think of this one, but I was wrong (link): I want to see the path in Hampstead Heath (just a few blocks from our hotel) where Gen. Vladimir was assassinated by Karla’s people at the start of Smiley’s People. Maybe I could even find the fork in the tree where George found the tattered packet of Gauloises with the crucial negative in it. If so, I’ll get a picture of that, too.
  • Of course, there’s always Smiley’s flat, and I know the actual address.
  • I’ll go see the new MI6 HQ, which le Carre called “the River House” in The Night Manager. But what I really want to see is The Circus. Fortunately, others have identified it as being this building. And it’s near some great book shops, so my wife might not mind this detour too much.
  • The Islington highway exit where Arthur Dent was dropped off when he returned to Earth at the start of So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish.
  • Tea at Fortnum’s. OK so this is a typical tourist thing. But here’s my reason for wanting to do it: When Percy Alleline confronts Peter Guillam in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, accusing him of consorting with “defector” Rikki Tarr, a long stream of things run through Guillam’s head in an instant (one of the best passages of that sort I’ve read outside Dostoevsky). But what he says is, “Sure, Chief. Rikki and I have tea at Fortnum’s every afternoon.” Like a couple of scalphunter tough guys would do that. His facetiousness saves him. Anyway, that’s what got me interested in having tea at Fortnum’s: I want to do something that two people who never existed didn’t even do in fiction. Also, I think my wife will enjoy it.
  • Finally, I’d really love to find some landmarks for the Aubrey/Maturin novels, but I know that after all this time it will be hard to find places that look just as they did in the early 19th century. For instance, can I find anything that looks like the Grapes, in the liberties of the Savoy? Or, is the old Admiralty building still in use, where Jack and other officers paced the First Lord’s waiting room, hoping for a ship? We’ll see…

So you see, I’ll be busy.

But you know what I want to do the most? Find and experience things I never even thought of, things I didn’t plan. The places and things I’ll just run across and be delighted by – those are the greatest rewards of travel, I find.

Don’t you?

Shop Tart’s coming! (And Jim Rex has been here)

See the way Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf reacted when he heard Santa was coming? Well, that was me today when I found out that The Shop Tart herself will be here on Monday to tape a special pre-Christmas edition of “The Brad Show.” Well, sorta. Think how it would have been if James Caan had played the elf. More like that. But I was excited, nevertheless.

And today, we taped a show with outgoing SC Superintendent Jim Rex. Plans are to have that one up on the blog Monday. Then we’ll tape the Tart on Monday for showing later in the week.

Trying to get the momentum going again on “The Brad Show,” just in time for Christmas. And if you want to buy the boxed DVD set of Season One for that just-right gift for a loved one, well… I don’t have any made, but if you send us enough money we’ll burn the frickin’ shows onto a DVD, and put it in a box, too.

Who better to get us into the spirit of the last-minute shopping frenzy than the Tart herself? Watch for her, and Dr. Rex, right here on this station…

Green Zone: good flick, if you take it for what it is

Just in case I haven’t provoked my anti-war friends on the blog enough lately…

I saw”Green Zone” over the weekend, and it was a corking good thriller. Just as long as you don’t take the premise seriously.

No, wait — I need to refine that: As long as you don’t take too seriously the one spectacular conceit that does the most to drive the action, which is this… There’s this Iraqi general who is sort of the movie’s Great White Whale, only there’s no one Ahab — EVERY character is frantically pursuing him, with each character having a different motive for doing so. Matt Damon’s character wants him because he thinks he knows where the WMD are, and it’s his (Damon’s) job to find them  (he plays a chief warrant officer named Miller). An idealistic one-legged Iraqi (his other leg is in Iran) wants to find him because of what the general and his ilk have done to his country. A CIA officer wants to find him because he believes the Army is the key to preventing the insurgency. A Wall Street Journal reporter wants to find him because he is the mysterious source Magellan that a Pentagon official has told her has provided intel on where the WMD are — reports that she has passed on uncritically in the paper. The Pentagon official, played by Greg Kinnear, want to find him and kill him before he tells everybody the truth.

What truth? This “truth” (SPOILER ALERT!): We eventually learn that before the war, Poundstone (Kinnear’s character) had secretly met the general in Jordan, where the general told him there WERE no WMD. And Poundstone returned to Washington and told everyone that the general had told him the exact opposite, even telling him where to find the weapons. So we invade Iraq, and Miller’s unit risks their lives going to these supposed WMD sites and coming up empty.

This makes Poundstone the Great White Whale of all those antiwar folks who believe “Bush lied” — the perfect representation of the supposed great misrepresentation. He, Poundstone, KNEW the truth and deliberately lied. No mere wishful thinking. No making a mistake (the mistake made by pretty much the whole world — the debate about the invasion wasn’t over whether the WMD existed, but about the best way to get them out of Saddam’s hands). A big, fat, montrous lie.

Which, of course, didn’t happen. If something like that had happened, someone of the millions of people who would love to find out such a thing and tell the world — from the antiwar Democrats who now control our government and have access to all its secrets, to Julian Assange, to the director of this movie — would have let us know by now.

So…  the bad news is that people will see Green Zone and think that such a thing happened. And that’s bad even if you are deeply opposed to the war and want to avoid such conflicts in the future, because it keeps you from confronting whatever REALLY happened and realistically assessing how to keep it from happening again. Politically attractive fantasies are just dangerous all around — as the antiwar folks would no doubt say about the delusion that there were WMD.

The good news, though, is that it’s a great action flick. And the other questions the movie raises — including some serious ones that deserve answers — are intelligently, provocatively and even realistically portrayed. Where the movie falls down is wherever it touches upon the Poundstone character. And I mean this in an artistic, esthetic sense as well as political: Kinnear’s character is cartoonish, the portayal more suited to low farce than to serious drama. When he’s on screen, the quality drops. NO ONE would believe this guy; if he told you your mother loved you, you’d say “What’s his angle?” He’s just ridiculous. He might as well be wearing a black cape, stovepipe hat and Snidely Whiplash mustache.

Everybody else is credible; everybody else feels real. While comparisons to the Bourne movies are inevitable (with Damon and the director of the second and third films in that trilogy on board), this film is far more believable, in that there are no superheroes like Bourne in it. (The flaw that it shares with those films is the aforementioned fantasy plotline about a vicious government conspiracy — a great plot device, as long as you don’t start thinking stuff like that really happens.) In fact, the closest thing to Jason Bourne is the Special Forces guy who promptly beats the stuffing out of Damon’s character when he fails to give him what he’s after. And that violence is realistic, not balletic.

Other things that are good, and deserve more explication, are such things as the issue of whether we should have worked with the Iraqi army rather than banishing it into insurgency. If the director wanted a political point, that would have been an excellent one to stick with.

Perhaps the most provocative questions raised surround the frantically earnest one-legged Iraqi, “Freddy.” He tries to approach harried soldiers to give them critical information, and gets knocked around for his trouble. He is forced into suicidally dangerous (for a guy who has to live there) situations in order to help the Americans. In the end, (MAJOR SPOILER ALERT) he raises the film’s most provocative question when he takes matters into his own hands with deadly force. Damon’s character, persuaded by the CIA that the general must be found so we can work with him to prevent the insurgency (I REALLY MEAN IT — MAJOR SPOILER ALERT!), manages to get to him before the Special Forces guys who have been sent to kill him. You think Damon has won the day. Then out of nowhere comes Freddy with a pistol and blows the general away. Freddy then says to Damon — and I don’t have it in front of me, so this might not be verbatim — “YOU don’t get to decide what happens here.”

If you want a good antiwar message, one you can chew over productively, that would be it. But the whole Poundstone thing is offensively ridiculous. You want to talk about a Big Lie, suggesting that anything that clearly duplicitous happened qualifies.

That’s particularly insidious since we are told this story is based in nonfiction. Oh, and if you don’t want to believe me, believe Richard “Monty” Gonzales, upon whom Damon’s character Miller was based, and who acted as technical adviser on the film:

“Green Zone” contains several messages, an unavoidable consequence of making a film of this genre. Critical blunders preceding the invasion, chiefly the bad intelligence that led us to war, made certain that no quick victory would be achieved and certainly undermined U.S. credibility around the world. Later, the U.S. directed a de-Bathification policy which disenfranchised a massive section of the population and helped fuel an insurgency. Consequently, any hope of victory in Iraq was made vastly more complicated and costly — as the last 7 years have proven. I believe this is true.
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However, “Green Zone” also suggests that we were lied into the war in Iraq; a subtext that is unfortunately being twisted by some in order to give credence to a bumper sticker I deplore, the mantra which has become the left’s version of the war — which is well on its way to becoming the Iraq conflict’s official history — “They lied; people died.” As intriguing as that idea may be, it’s simply not true.

“Swamp Fox, Swamp Fox, tail on his hat…”

A reader this week reminded me of something that I may have known, but had forgotten — that long before he was the funniest deadpan comic actor in America, Leslie Nielsen was … “The Swamp Fox” on TV. She wrote:

I occasionally post on your blog as Abba.  Would you consider posting this clip from YouTube showing Leslie Nielsen, who died this week, as South Carolina’s Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox, in Disney’s series from the early 1960s – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vvQJ7ZDg1Y.  Here’s a longer version – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVGN1pDzYAY&feature=related.  Leslie Nielsen never looked so good!  This clip has the catchy theme song that I remember so well from my childhood.  We used to play the Swamp Fox on the playground at school, and many of the boys in my class had tri-cornered hats with fox tails attached.  Hear the song once, and you’ll be humming it all day long!  A fitting tribute to Leslie Nielsen from our corner of the world, I think.

I loved that show, which ran from October 23, 1959 (right after my 6th birthday) to January 15, 1961 — hardly more than a year.

Like the far, far more successful “Davy Crockett” series and generally forgotten “Gray Ghost,” these shows inspired me and other very young kids to run out and play at being actual figures from history. (Anyone remember that goofy, overly elaborate way Col. Mosby saluted? I thought it was cool, and used to go around imitating it. Wouldn’t you like to see video of that?)

Actually, to take that a bit farther… to this day, whenever I hear the words “Tory” and “Patriot,” I think of first hearing them used on “The Swamp Fox.” So while my understanding of the term was to grow and expand later, I actually had a minimal working knowledge of what a “Tory” was at the age of 6. If I ran into a 6-year-old who used a term like that today, I’d be shocked. But it was common currency among fans of “The Swamp Fox.”

I can also remember a conversation I had with my uncle about “The Gray Ghost.” I was confused about the whole blue-vs.-gray thing (especially since I was watching it in black-and-white), and I asked him during one show, “Are those the good guys or the bad guys?” My uncle, who was only a kid himself (six years older than I) could have given me a simplistic answer, but instead, he said, “Well, they’re both Americans…” and went on to suggest that a case could be made for both being good guys. That sort of rocked my world. There was no such ambiguity on the Westerns I watched. This was my introduction to the concept that in war, in politics, in life, things can be complicated, that there are many shades of gray. Perhaps the track that set mind on has something to do with why I don’t buy into the whole Democrat-vs.-Republican, left-vs.-right dichotomy that drives our politics. After all, they’re all Americans. And in the wider world, they’re all humans. Even the Nazis. (Of course, this doesn’t keep me from understanding that when humans’ actions go beyond the pale — as with Nazis, or terrorists — they must be opposed, with force if necessary.)

Also, while at first I didn’t think I remembered the “Swamp Fox” theme song, as I listened to it repeated over and over on that clip above, I had a dim memory of being struck by the odd syntax of that second line, “no one knows where the Swamp Fox at” — I didn’t know WHY it sounded odd (I was just learning to read, and hadn’t gotten to grammar yet), it just did.

In other words, these shows — which presented very simplistic, often inaccurate glimpses of history — not only helped feed a lifelong interest in history, but helped foster the ability to think.

So… TV doesn’t actually have to be junk, although it’s often hard to remember that these days.

That great new GM ad

Gotta hand it to the folks at GM. This ad, which I first saw during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, is a grabber. It works really well.

The part that really pulled me in and kept me watching long enough to find out what it was about? The bit from “Animal House” when the Deltas are all sitting around looking dejected. They offer that slightly vague little pop culture reference, and it feels like a bit of a challenge, like, “Do you know what this is?” and you do, and you feel cool for knowing, so you keep watching to see what else you’ll see.

You get the sense that it’s pitched at Boomers and our elders, because of the combination of that and Popeye, and to a slightly lesser extent Evel Knievel, and especially the failed launch from the early days of NASA. (I had to explain that to my daughter, because she didn’t understand there was a time when we all thought, as Tom Wolfe summed it up, “Our rockets always blow up!“) It’s nice to see an ad pitched to grownups, one that makes us feel like we’re with it. If we listen hard enough, we even realize that piano is wandering about the melody of “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother.” (I thought, “Long and Winding…” no, but something about a road being long… Um, Neil Diamond… no, not originally… then I got it. The Hollies.)

Anyway, nice job. It was almost worth all that money we gave y’all.

Bad Things Arising (got to shake these from my head)

Over the weekend, I had some silly be-bop song running through my head, after hearing it on a CD my wife was playing in the kitchen. Perfectly harmless, and no permanent damage. I’ve already forgotten what song it was.

Today, something more ominous has gripped my mind… I’ve got two songs from “Jesus Christ Superstar” running through my mind — “This Jesus Must Die” (which is bad enough) and “Judas’ Death.”

This is what I get, I suppose, for not going to Mass yesterday. I had a cold, I was scheduled to administer the Eucharist, and under the circumstances I thought it best not to show.

Now this.

Sample lyrics from the first song:

Caiaphas:

Fools! You have no perception
The stakes we are gambling
Are frighteningly high
We must crush him completely
So like John before him
This Jesus must die
For the sake of the nation
This Jesus must die
Must die, must die
This Jesus must die…

And a sample from the second:

Judas
My God, I saw him
He looked three-quarters dead
And he was so bad
I had to turn my head
You beat him so hard
That he was bent and lame
And I know who everybody’s
Going to blame
I don’t believe he knows
I acted for our good
I’d save him all the suffering
If I could
Don’t believe
Our good
Save him
If I could

Now, in my defense, the first song really has some appealingly clever lyrics, before you get to the bloodthirsty ones:

Annas
What then to do about Jesus of Nazareth?
Miracle wonderman, hero of fools

Priest
No riots, no army, no fighting, no slogans

Caiaphas
One thing I’ll say for him, Jesus is cool…

What then to do about this Jesusmania?
How do we deal with the carpenter king?
Where do we start with a man who is bigger
Than John was when John did his baptism thing?

But nevertheless, this is not a good way to start the week…

McCain has a point comparing Palin, Reagan

Since I don’t watch those Sunday talk shows, I’m always reading the reactions, and reactions to reactions, on Monday (which is quite soon enough to suit me). Today I’m reading what Chris Cillizza has to say about what John McCain said on Sunday:

The Arizona Republican, responding to a question from CNN’s Candy Crowley about Palin being “divisive,” noted that Ronald Reagan was often seen as divisive as well.

It wasn’t a direct comparison to Reagan (McCain never said Palin is similar to Reagan), but it was a comparison nonetheless. And the reaction was swift, as it often is when it comes to Palin.

So the big question follows: Is it a valid comparison? The answer: In many ways, yes.

The fact is that Reagan has benefited tremendously from the years since his presidency, and people look back on him in a much favorable light than they did during his presidency.

According to Gallup polling data, Reagan’s average approval rating during his presidency was 53 percent — lower than John F. Kennedy,Lyndon JohnsonDwight Eisenhower and George H.W. Bush andBill Clinton.

As for the operative word here — “divisiveness” — Reagan had a claim to it. Many more Republicans approved of him than Democrats, and even at his peak, just 68 percent of Americans approved of him, a number lower than everyone but Richard Nixon over the last 65 years.

The reason Reagan couldn’t get higher than that was because there was a segment of the population, about one-third, that was dead-set against him. Reagan is often listed in polls of people’s favorite presidents, but because of that one-third, he’s also among the leaders for people’s least favorite presidents. His detractors often feel just as strongly as his supporters about Reagan’s legacy.

Recent polling shows Palin is on par with all of that…

Hey, it works for me. I, for the record, was among that one-third. And probably one of the more adamant members of that segment. My attitude has softened somewhat over the years, but that may be due to the 1984-style revisionism to which I’ve been subjected in media for more than two decades. You know, Ronald Reagan was a great president; he was always a great president — and we have always been at war with Eastasia. (Or would a better analogy be the sleep-teaching in Brave New World? Discuss.)

To the extent that I can clearly recall the past, I remember seeing Reagan — when he emerged on the national scene in 1976, then again in 1980 — as a destructive, negative, insurgent, dumbing-down force in the GOP. So yeah, a comparison to Sarah Palin is valid on those grounds.

Of course, after all these years of hearing what a great job he did, it seems a disservice to him to compare him to Mrs. Palin. One thing’s for sure, though — as a thoroughly professional actor, Reagan played the role of president with far greater dignity than I can imagine the ex-governor of Alaska managing to project.

Bill Cosby gets lost between Due West and North, South Carolina

Some of y’all may have seen this video, but I had not until Stan Dubinsky shared it with me today.

Consider it a cautionary tale as you get on the road for Thanksgiving: Don’t take directions from the Cos, ’cause he’s confused.

In addition to North and Due West, Charleston, Beaufort and Bishopville are also featured.

But… um… she’s 48 years old…

Mostly, I do a good job of ignoring celebrity “news.” I have been, for instance, only vaguely aware (and therefore vaguely appalled) that some people actually seem to care about some sort of scoring controversy on a dance competition show that involves the daughter of the former governor of Alaska.

But today, curiosity got the better of me, when I saw this item on Twitter:

Kelly Preston and John Travolta Welcome a Son http://bit.ly/g4ypDG (via @CelebCircuit) /via @CBSNews

Right away, I thought to myself that the sentence, “Kelly Preston and John Travolta welcome a son…” would continue, in the longer-than-Twitter format of a Web page, “… home from Afghanistan for Thanksgiving,” or some such.

Surely they didn’t… oh yes, they did:

NEW YORK (CBS/AP) John Travolta and Kelly Preston’s baby Benjamin has arrived.

A publicist says the couple’s son was born Tuesday at an undisclosed Florida hospital. The baby weighed 8 lbs., 3 oz.

“John, Kelly and their daughter Ella Bleu are ecstatic and very happy about the newest member of the family,” the family said in astatement. “Both mother and baby are healthy and doing beautifully.”…

All right, then, surely they had this child via surrogate. Or he’s adopted. But no, apparently not.

Set aside the creepiness of a “replacement baby” so soon after their nearly-grown son died (another piece of celebrity news that made it through my defenses). John Travolta is… like… my age. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t actually high school-age when he made “Welcome Back, Kotter.”

And his wife — even though she’s a lovely, youthful-looking woman; don’t get me wrong here — probably isn’t all that much younger, if she was the mother of the boy who died.

Yep: She’s 48.

When I was her age, not only was I a grandfather, but my two sons (neither of whom was my oldest child) were 23 and 21.

There are all sorts of things I could say about wealthy celebrities thinking they can have anything they want, including their youth back, and what that implies for our society at large…

But I won’t. I’ll just say “mazel tov,” and walk away shaking my head…

Today’s meaningless coincidence: 3 Days of the Crowe

Things like this strike me, and then I forget them and move on, but it occurs to me that maybe if I start writing about them, perhaps some pattern will emerge that explains the way the universe works.

Or not.

Bottom line, meaningless coincidences interest me whether they do you or not, and here’s today’s. Or rather, today’s first…

Last night, I wasn’t quite ready to go to bed when I should have, and went rifling through my DVDs looking for something I could watch, but stop watching at any time. Something I hadn’t seen in awhile. Something that wouldn’t be too loud, since others had gone to bed I suppose I looked at and rejected two or three dozen titles before I hit on “Three Days of the Condor.” I don’t know what made me pick that — maybe it was that I had watched and enjoyed (except for that last episode) the first season of “Rubicon.”

Anyway, “Condor” is always enjoyable, even though it’s silly. Most paranoid, black-helicopter gummint conspiracy movies ARE silly. But this one is very earnest, which suits Robert Redford. As for the silliness: “Yeah, right — entire secret offices in New York get wiped out by guys with submachine guns SO often that the CIA has a set of procedures including a rapid-response team of janitors in an undercover van ready to run to the scene and mop up, like Batman rushing out from the Batcave.” Think about it, people. (The way something similar was handled on “Rubicon” was much more believable, much more improvised on a human scale.)

But it works because it’s fun to say, “Sure, nothing like this really happens, but it’s interesting to see how a human being might react if it DID happen.” As in, say, “The Bourne Identity” — ridiculous premise, fascinating character and action.

Anyway, to remind you of the plot: A guy who reads books for the CIA slips out to get lunch for the gang one day, and when he comes back with the takeout all his co-workers are dead. He goes on the lam, suspicious of his own agency, until he can figure out what’s going on. Along the way he reveals resourcefulness and tradecraft that you wouldn’t expect in a professional book reader.

I watched it through, and a little past, one of my favorite scenes: Redford finds himself trapped on an elevator with the head assassin, the masterfully creepy Max Von Sydow, and they are both held hostage by a mundane hassle — some punk teenagers hit all the buttons on the elevator before getting off. Redford and the assassin look at each other, and Max smiles grimly and says, “Kids.” Like, whaddya gonna do? Then the tension builds with each unnecessary opening and closing of the elevator door, and Redford and Max and you and I all know, without a word being said, that Max is going to kill Redford as soon as they get outside — unless Redford can think of something.

Nicely done.

Eventually, I went to bed.

Then this morning, the very first e-mail I open is from Roger Ebert, and one of the new reviews is this movie I had never heard of:

The Next Three Days

The transformation of a schlepp

Russell Crowe slumps comfortably into the role of a junior college teacher in “The Next Three Days,” and then morphs into an unlikely man of action determined to spring his wife from jail. The film might have been more convincing if he’d remained the schleppy English teacher throughout. Once glimmers of “Gladiator” begin to reveal themselves, a certain credibility is lost. The movie is a competent thriller, but maybe could have been more.

Maybe you don’t, but I found the coincidence striking. “Three Days.” Bookish man forced by circumstances to become surprising action hero. Condor/Crowe. Last movie I thought about last night, first item brought to my attention this morning…

Oh, never mind.

It’s not always all about me, as things turn out…

We had a little early Thanksgiving dinner/birthday celebration today at ADCO, and as we were eating I kept hearing some of my coworkers saying:

Brad paisley… Brad, paisley… Brad… paisley

Which made me a little self-conscious, I’ve gotta tell you.

But you know what? This is going to be a real shock to you, I’m sure, but they weren’t talking about the tie I chose to wear today. Go figure.

Comment on election results HERE…

… and I will do my best to keep up with them and approve them in something close to real time.

Remember, I’ll be on WIS from 7 to 8 tonight, and then again from 11 to midnight, if my voice holds out (I seem to have come down with an untimely cold).

So watch me, watch the returns, comment here, and I’ll try to keep up. I’m not sure what the accommodation will be at WIS for my laptop, but I’ll try to figure out something…

Where you can see and hear me in coming days

This morning, I taped a segment for ETV Radio with Mark Quinn, and while I was doing it, I thought that for once, I’d give y’all a heads-up ahead of time about where you can see and hear me over the next few days. So here goes:

  • The ETV Radio segment will air on Friday at 1 p.m. Mark and I talked for 15 minutes, mostly about the gubernatorial election. I worried a bit that I did an uncharacteristic thing: Rather than speak as the detached observer the way I usually do on radio, I spoke as the blogger who very much hopes Vincent overcomes the odds. I apologized to Mark for that after, but he said it was OK, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought…
  • Speaking of ETV, a program called “How We Choose” will air on the TV version at 9:30 p.m. Friday, and again on Monday, election eve, at 7 p.m. There are some clips from the program up on the ETV election blog. I was one of a bunch of people interviewed for this, and it was so long ago I don’t know what I said, but it was very Civics 101 stuff about democracy and voting and the like. You know — educational.
  • Remember that “party politics” primer I did on the city election for the Shop Tart, specially crafted for her particular audience? That was well received, and she wants me to do another, and I have promised her I would. So repeating the promise in writing to y’all is my way of making myself write it and get it to her sometime this week. If I fail, I fail in the world’s eyes, not just the Tart’s…
  • I’ve manipulated the Health & Happiness schedule so that it will be my turn to do it at the Columbia Rotary Club on Monday, election eve. If I can’t come up with decent political material for that day, I never will. That’s at 1 p.m. at Seawell’s. You have to get a member to host you if you want to be there. (So now, I’ve just put EXTRA pressure on myself to come up with something good. Sheesh. Comedy is hard.)
  • Nov. 2 — On Election Night, I’ll be on WIS. Judi Gatson has asked me to appear along with Sid Bedingfield (Political analyst from USC) and Douglas Wilson (a blogger at politicsispower.com) to talk election results. I said OK, so guess I won’t be doing my usual roaming that night, but will be in a fixed location. I THINK I’ll be able to blog during that, but if I don’t, and you wonder where I am, turn on the tube.
  • On Nov. 4th, I’ll be speaking to the SC Telecommunications Association’s Fall Conference at the Radisson, about election results.
  • On Saturday, Nov. 6, I’m the featured entertainment for the Lower Richland Dem Breakfast out on Garners Ferry Road. They, too, want me to talk about election results.

So, I’m busy doing a lot of stuff besides earning a living and blogging. But you might say that I’m blogging by other means — and of course wherever I go, I give ADCO a plug…

Hang down your head, candidate

A piece I read in the WSJ this morning reminded me of a picture I shot with my phone while at a stoplight in Birmingham Friday. The story was about candidates with unusual names, such as Young Boozer, Krystal Ball and Isaac Hayes:

It might come as no surprise in these tumultuous times that a Young Boozer is running for Alabama state treasurer.

Young Boozer introduces himself on the stump as, “Young Boozer and yes, that’s my real name.” He says each audience is made up of three parts. The first wonders, “Is that the guy’s real name?” The second says, “‘What’s his father’s name, Old Boozer?”‘ The rest already know him.

Mr. Boozer, 61 years old, is the third consecutive Young Boozer in his family. He coined the motto, “funny name, serious leadership,” after realizing on the campaign trail the political advantage the elder Young Boozers had passed along. Previously, the Boozers were associated mostly with sports. Mr. Boozer’s father, Young Boozer, Jr., was a football star at the University of Alabama, where he faced off in the Rose Bowl against a Stanford player named Tom Collins.

“I’ve always been a Boozer,” jokes the candidate. The family name is so unusual that “once you hear it, you never forget it,” he says. Still, “I didn’t think it was funny when I was growing up because my dad was so well known.”…

I’m sorry if you can’t make out the blurry image above, but it urges people to vote for Tom Dooley for Alabama state board of education. (So yes, in Alabama, voters have the opportunity to vote for both a famous name from an iconic folk song, and Young Boozer.)

This sparked a conversation between my wife and me — one of those kinds of conversations that are rare in this era of Google. I couldn’t consult the Blackberry while driving, and so we tried to remember… we both knew about the folk song, and to the great regret of the other occupants of the car, I was able to sing four lines of it, repeatedly, before I got stuck:

Hang down your head, Tom Doo-ley.

Hang down your head and cry.

Hang down your head, Tom Dooley.

Poor boy, you’re gonna die…

Beyond that, we didn’t know much. I was thinking the song was about a man condemned some notorious, long-forgotten murder. My wife said yes, but the defendant was a doctor. I said I didn’t know about that, but I did know… and launched into my four lines again.

Well, now that Wikipedia is at hand, I can report that:

  • The song was about the 1866 murder in North Carolina of a woman named Laura Foster.
  • Tom Dula was hanged for the murder in 1868, after two trials.
  • Dula was pronounced “Dooley” in Appalachian dialect, as a result of the same linguistic quirk that led to the current pronunciation and spelling of Grand Ole Opry.
  • Several versions of the song, first sung shortly after Dula’s execution, were recorded in the first half of the 20th century. By far the most famous was by The Kingston Trio in 1958, which was a huge crossover hit and is widely credited with launching the folk boom of the early 60s.
  • At the time that hit recording came out, a Dr. Tom Dooley (Thomas Anthony Dooley III) was famous as an international humanitarian. (Since he was an American Catholic, I’m guessing my wife heard a lot about him from the nuns at school.)
  • It’s not “gonna die,” but “bound to die.”

Oh, finally — turns out the Tom Dooley running for school board is also “Dr. Tom Dooley,” according to his Web site.

And that’s all I know about Tom Dooley.

Aren’t you glad you weren’t stuck in a car with me driving for 20 hours over the weekend? I won’t even get into the thoughts I had when I saw in Memphis a sign telling me that Ned Ray McWherter’s boy is running for governor

Ranting about “Rubicon”

I’ve been raving about AMC’s “Rubicon” all season, and now that I’ve seen the last episode, I’ll rant about it a bit.

But first… SPOILER ALERT! OK, now we’ll proceed…

What was THAT about? Call that an ending? Even for a season?

I’ll share with you this partial litany of objections that I just shared with Jim Foster, who has been sharing his enjoyment of the series with me via e-mail throughout the season:

  • What about… the woman who was just murdered?
  • What about… the DVD she didn’t give Will — and he didn’t bother to find and pick up?
  • What about… David’s last message (which she, incredibly, didn’t pause a few minutes to see — you know, in case the disc broke or something)?
  • What about… the foxy neighbor lady who turned out suddenly to be a spook?
  • WHY didn’t Will go to Kale Ingram — the only professional he has on his side, and the only person with a clue what to do in the face of violence — the instant he got back to the office?
  • WHY on Earth would he first confront Spangler alone, without witnesses, thereby giving the bad guy at least a chance of killing him before he is able to expose him to anyone?
  • How about that Maggie, huh? ‘Bout time he got around to her… (this is not actually relevant to my objections; I just wanted to say it)
  • What happened to the writers of all the earlier episodes, which were GOOD? Were they killed by terrorists just before this one?

Teaching Ellen to do the Joan walk

My first reaction, when my attention was called to this item, was — being the ideologically incorrect so-and-so that I am — that this video would no doubt be another argument in favor of DADT. There are certain people who just shouldn’t do certain things in public.

But Ellen is a hoot, and she’s game, and bless her for trying.

And besides, relatively few hetero women on this planet can move like our Christina. And not look ridiculous, that is.

Sorry I couldn’t find an embed code. But you can follow the link to the video.