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Monday, May 31, 2010

Surreal photo from Guatemalan disaster

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This has got to be the scariest fucking picture I have seen all year. In terms of enormity. it doesn't begin to touch what is happening these days in the Gulf of Mexico courtesy of BP and the Reagan Revolution. But just look at it! Imagine how you would react if the maw of hell opened outside of your picture window one evening. I would run until I dropped, then think about running until I fell exhausted into nightmares about running some more, never getting far enough away.

BoingBoing, where I saw the article a few minutes ago, states that this image is not a Photoshop job, but a real picture from the Guatemalan government's Flickr feed depicting a colossal sinkhole that spontaneously formed in Guatemala City after days of saturating downpours from Tropical Storm Agatha. BB says that other sinkholes like this are rumored to be forming as well. And, as you can read clicking through the first link in this paragraph, the storm hit 2 days after the nearby Pacaya volcano erupted.

I know it's a holiday weekend here in U S A !  U S A !  And I'm pretty unplugged, by choice, from corporate media outlets. But as of a moment ago there still wasn't a peep about this on HuffingtonPost or TPM, both of which have ample space on their front pages for breaking news headlines. Yes, I know there were other important things happening this Memorial Day, but a volcano, tropical storm, and horror movie sinkhole affecting a capital city on our hemisphere warrants attention even on a day when a U.S. official claims that yet another "Al Qaeda No. 3" has been killed, yet again.

Immediate update: actually, HuffingtonPost has an item about the Guatemalan tropical storm way, way down near the bottom of the page, the third subhed in a series of three related to the start of a new hurricane season, after one about Haiti and one about the BP oil spill. I wonder why I didn't see it earlier.

Son of Wise Sayings

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If you think you're 10 pounds overweight, then there's a high probability that you are actually 30 pounds overweight.

Wise Sayings

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This edition of Wise Sayings is contributed by the very wise Beer-D.

Solving problems has never solved anyone's problems.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

It's Bedtime!

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So get to sleep, you little cockblockers! It's a school night!



I always enjoy watching a nice black-and-white British Invasion clip like this, but in the current case the boyish ease of Billy J. Kramer on stage softens the song's actual tense atmosphere. I remember listening to this in 1964 on my turquoise GE tabletop radio and, even as a pre-teenager, directly sensing the seething frustration in Kramer's performance as he tried unsuccessfully, with tight-lipped plastic smile, to charm, cajole, and bribe his girlfriend's little siblings to shut up and go away. The kids have the upper hand throughout, though, and it seems that Kramer's second greatest desire as the song closes is to plant the tots in a shallow grave.

Little Children, Billy J. Kramer with the Dakotas (1964), via YouTube.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

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I mowed the back yard tonight for the first time in several weeks. I'd purposely allowed the grass to go to seed, which I find helps to crowd out weeds somewhat effectively.

While plowing over a patch of no particular distinction, my peripheral vision rapidly picked up a teeming movement. Turning for a direct look, I was horrified to see what appeared to be an endless stream of scrawny infant mammals trying to erupt from the turf. These creatures---"bunnies," I presume---appeared as an apparition both revolting and pitiable at once. I immediately killed the mower and went to inspect for casualties. While pleased to find none, the sight of these animals trying to boil out of the earth, without much success, struck me with queasiness. What had I done? Stripped away their shelter, brutally but unintentionally like some reckless minor god who drinks too much.

I ran back into the house to grab my Sony F717 in order to bear witness to this cunicularic cataclysm I had caused. Yep, there they were, still roiling in dumbfounded terror (I presume), not knowing whether to run toward the light or away from it. Due to its weak sensor and lens focal length, the Sony was not the ideal camera to use in this low-light situation, and I didn't feel I had time to optimize the exposure, camera support, etc. The pictures aren't great, but this one best captures the nature and range of motion of these hapless creatures. Click through it for a larger view.

Now, if you are an animal lover and believe that it is appropriate to petition the ALL-ONE with prayer, then please feel free to use this Friday Evening Prayer Meeting to invoke protection for these infant rabbits. Myself, I will try to bear witness to the circle of life because I fear there is a high probability that any of the various neighborhood predators (excluding Rudy, who prefers starchy food) will attempt to devour these succulent, downy creatures before the sun rises over the alley. It was ever thus.

Fun fact: did you know rabbits are "hindgut digesters"?

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Fire Water: makes ya spend every quarter...



I first heard of Stick McGhee (not "Sticks") about 30 years ago courtesy of my early "race music" advisor, Larry K. I don't know much about Stick except that he was the little brother of bluesman Brownie McGhee and that he died youngish. He came to my attention on a Larry K. mix tape of Carolina beach music that included this tune and another (in my opinion even better) side called "Whiskey, Women, and Loaded Dice," the latter of which you can listen to here on YouTube. I chose not to present that tune on this blog because some well-intentioned knucklehead pissed all over the song with an insufferably distracting video pastiche. But you go and listen anyway, I Command You. And I'll interject that some years ago Beer-D perceptively noticed that the melody to "Whiskey" is a traditional old timey tune performed as "In The Jailhouse Now" by the Soggy Bottom Boys in the Coen Brothers movie O Brother, Where Art Thou?

I'm not a musicologist but this music has a reedy, swinging New Orleans boogie woogie sound to it. Listen how it swings --- a perfect tempo and beat for kids dancing the Shag on sand-covered floors in Virginia Beach dives. Stick has a terrific laid-back delivery and a voice like a tenor sax. And the lyrics are just plain delightful: a tribute to all the wittily named "craft" moonshine the adults could get ahold of if they knew what to ask for. God help them all after the happy hour (6 - 8), when they could get two "Moon Graveys" for the price of one. Also, listen for the little gender-bending joke near the end --- quite sophisticated for the mid-'50s.

Six To Eight, Stick McGhee (1955, King Records), via YouTube.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

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Well you don’t have to lie ‘cause I’m no fool.
I can see you don’t want my love at all.
I know... I still love you.



Here's another example from that tiny sub-genre of rockin bipolar romance-gone-bad lullabies like we shared at the previous Prayer Meeting. In my opinion, "Everybody Knows" is a real gem of pop-rock art: an irreducible kernel of universal young-adult experience (a piece of Truth, as Larry K. would say) presented in a rapidly alternating manic-depressive form, both lyrically and musically... in one minute and 40 seconds!

I really like the brash yet minimalist set used on this Shindig performance, as on many others from the British Invasion era. Probably the result of trying to make the most of a small production budget. Well done! And I have no problem with a reasonable lipsync job for a performance primarily intended for a TV audience (as opposed to the hack job The Who did at Superbowl Previous) since the studio audience was there to eavesdrop and was not the actual target audience.

I made up my very own rock trivia question based on the Dave Clark 5 (i.e., never previously heard by me). Here it is: Name the group that had two different songs of the same title on the pop charts four years apart. It's the DC5, as I say, with this tune and another one called "Everybody Knows" from 1968. The latter is completely forgettable, in my opinion, which makes this an excellent '60s music trivia question (even though I, myself, think trivia sucks). And Lenny Davidson is no Mike Smith --- I'll take a coupla lungsful of gravel versus a quart of treacle any day! (As long as they're someone else's lungs.)

Everybody Knows, Dave Clark 5 on Shindig (1964), via YouTube.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Please don't destroy these lands.
Don't make them desert sands.



Shapes Of Things, Yardbirds live in Germany (1966). Via YouTube. Keith Relf's shirt is beautiful! I want one! He can keep the haircut, though.

Freedom Muffins?

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In the comments thread of my most recent edition of Wise sayings, our friend from across the Atlantic, Mr. Barry Coidan, posted a preemptive and seeming defensive comment about Americans (me in particular?) blaming Brits for the super-awesome oil volcano in the Gulf of Mexico. In my case that actually wasn't so, and I in fact agree pretty much 100% with Mr. Coidan's comment because let's face it: BP is not a Merrie Olde Company run by and for a jolly bunch of droll, quick-witted Limeys, but a global multinational energy corporation that is no more or less profit-crazed, ruthless, and unethical than any of the other five "supermajors" such as, say, ExxonMobil, Chevron, or ConocoPhillips. (U!  S!  A!    U!  S!  A!)

There's probably no news in this here Mobile Press-Register report (Mobile, Alabama, that is) about the spill that you don't already know if you're even halfway following the saga. But take a look at the comments thread, such as this one from the appropriately named "yellohamr":
The British are no better at fixing oil leaks than fighting the Germans. American will half to bail tham out of both.
Yes, perhaps the hapless Brits will half to depend on American Halliburton, everybody's favorite American oilfield services corporation, with headquarters in good old American Houston, Texas, America, to bail tham out! You remember: good old American Halliburton whose Chairman and CEO works and lives in Dubai, UAE, "to Focus [the] Company’s Eastern Hemisphere Growth." I wonder if the United States has an extradition treaty with the United Arab Emirates.

Meanwhile, it seems like Barry C. was justified in his prophetic defense. Americans can be expected to trade in their Freedom Fries for Freedom Muffins. Starting in the Deep South, predictably.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Wise sayings

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Golf balls. Fucking golf balls!

Plan C (From Outer Space)

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I guess we all can rest a bit easier tonight. According to Reuters, BP has a cunning new plan to plug their deepwater runaway gusher in the Gulf of Mexico:
"They are actually going to take a bunch of debris -- some shredded up tires, golf balls and things like that -- and under very high pressure shoot it into the preventer itself and see if they can clog it up to stop the leak," U.S. Coast Board Admiral Thad Allen told CBS News.
That's right, Ladies and Germs. Golf balls. And shredded tires, too. Sounds like a plan.

According to the Reuters report, BP also is drilling a relief well in order to stop the leak by relieving oil pressure at the well head, "but that could take three months." No, I don't feel like multiplying 90 days times 210,000 gallons per, either....

Saturday Night Fish Fry [updated]

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Happy 100th birthday to the late Mary Lou Williams, who would have been very welcome in the pantheon of immortals born 2 days earlier than May 8. You can hear a bit about her from this so-so commemoration from NPR's Weekend Edition this morning, but her Wikipedia entry gives a much better impression of her place in jazz history from the early big band era well into bop, and then later, into Catholic sacred music.

The fact that she was a teacher and colleague of people like Monk, Bud Powell, and Dizzy Gillespie must speak volumes about her charisma and musical gravitas. Jazz was always an insanely macho-asshole culture, where newcomers were mercilessly humiliated in after-hour jams --- "cutting contests" --- by established musicians who had previously suffered the same way and should have known better. (Who knows how many potential giants wept, packed their bags, and took a Grayhound back to the sticks because of this pointless malevolent treatment?)

Anyhow, take a look at her portrait on the Morning Edition site --- looks like a tough lady, all business and sultry in a "forget it, Buster!" sort of way. Then listen to this oddball piece, "The Land of O0-Bla-Dee," recorded by Dizzy in 1947 (I think). Mary Lou composed the tune to accompany a ridiculous "bop fable" penned by a guy named Milton Orent (about whom I can find nothing on short notice). The lyrics are funny but surrealistically creepy, sort of like that Looney Tune from the same era where Bugs Bunny is giving Elmer Fudd Daliesque nightmares. The chart lurches along like the two ungainly sisters of the Beautiful Princess, with stutter-steps, asymmetric lines, and unexpected minor chords at the ends of verses where you'd expect majors. The melody line sounds utterly drunk in trajectory, which vocalist Joe Carroll helps to really "sell" with his delivery.



I knew this tune long before I knew Mary Lou composed it, and I never would have guessed that. It really sounds like something Dizzy would have come up with --- really not a "ladylike" sort of sound at all. And despite the hardened nightclub sexuality of the portrait at NPR, all accounts I've read of her agree that she was a very sweet and dignified lady, as she appears in the 1930s portrait shown below, before another decade of playing with some very tough customers. Happy birthday, Beautiful Princess.

Update: looks like I missed the midnight deadline by a few minutes when posting. Mary Lou's birthday was May 8, not May 9, just to be clear about things for a change.

Another update: while poking around for something else on Google I found this nifty piece about Mary Lou published on 12 September 1949 in Time. Of note: the Time says she characterized Oo-Bla-Dee as a five-course satire of the Bop genre... in 1949! Making fun of the giants!

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Ecological 9/11? [updated]

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The headline of this post employs a gimmick that I generally despise, namely the glib sensationalization of pretty much everything for the purpose of a catchy "hed." But in fact this thought is seriously occurring to me. BP is officially clueless about what to do now that the giant cofferdam* has failed to contain the gusher. Even if it had worked, I'm guessing the leak has already exceeded the size of the Exxon Valdez, and probably by a lot. Reporting I've heard about the rate of leaking have been ambiguous (i.e., conflicting or vague numbers about the leak rate), but the Alaska disaster involved about 11 million barrels gallons if I remember correctly. But, as I say, the most feasible idea for capping this thing has failed.

Now consider the reason why the cofferdam solution failed, as reported in the linked story from ThinkProgress above: frozen methane. BP had accounted for running into methane ice and had addressed it through engineering. But they found it forming either in much greater quantities or at a much faster rate than projected. Worldwide there's a lot of this stuff lurking way deep in oceans --- giant deposits of methane gas frozen into enormous slushy masses called clathrates. My senior science advisor has told me in the past that methane clathrates are pretty much benign, ecologically, unless they warm up enough to re-enter their gaseous phase and bubble up through the briny deep into our air supply. Methane, as it happens, is a much more efficient greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide, meaning ton for ton it traps much more heat than CO2. And guess what can help those clathrates evaporate --- global warming! Ding! I do not know how much methane is venting from the wellhead or how long it will remain frozen in the gulf, but it's not a stretch to say that this spill may have a potentially serious impact on the atmosphere as well as the sea.

Also consider what might happen if the spreading slick were to find its way into the Gulf Stream. I don't know how likely it is that the gulf currents will take this sludge around Flordia and up the East Coast, but it certainly seems like something to be concerned about.

NIMBYism may sometimes, or often, be a hypocritical kneejerk reaction that people have against land or resource uses they would fully support as long as it's not in their back yard. But there are plenty of things that everyone has a right to expect will not happen in their back yard. What happens when a pernicious development happens in the back yard of, say, 5 or 10 or 50 million people? Here's what: Republican Governor Schwarzenegger flipflops without sweating a single bullet. And every law of politics says he was completely correct even though, uncharacteristically, it was also the right thing to do.

Finally, consider just how big this back yard really is when you take into account (1) ruined livelihoods, (2) fatal damage to coastal ecosystems and biodiversity, (3) ruined oceanfront real estate, and (4) destruction of aquaculture and seafood resources. Oh yeah: don't forget skyrocketing energy prices as the good folks at Royal Dutch Shell and ConocoPhillips and Chevron and Saudi Aramco (and, yes, BP) go for the jugular of the oil-consuming public to extract the greatest possible return on investment in this holocaust.

The real impact of September 11 for most of us (i.e., those of us who weren't killed, maimed, traumatized, or crazed with grief for someone who those things did happen to at one of the Ground Zeros) was that popular sentiment was manipulated by very bad people into support for two illegal, disastrous wars and one unitary surveillance state. And that act of terrorism --- as spectacular, amoral, and gut-churning as it was --- had no concrete impact on the vast majority of Americans (until our teenagers started killing and being killed overseas, and our civil liberties at home began slumping like a mudslide). I wonder what socio-political witches' brew might start fermenting if the dirt-cheap shrimp disappear from Red Lobster and the sunrise reflects from an oily sheen off Cape Cod.

Update: part of the ambiguity about leakage rates I noted above probably relates to the fact that the media sometimes refer to barrels, sometimes to gallons, and other times to tons. The Exxon Valdez spilled 11 million gallons, not 11 million barrels --- my apologies. The unit conversion for 1 barrel is 42 gallons, meaning that if the leakage rate figure stated here (8th paragraph) is correct, that means roughly a quarter-million gallons ooze in each day. There are two unknowns: one is how long this will go on; the other is whether BP is lowballing the leakage rate for purposes of public appearances. So is the really a possible "Ecological 9/11"? We have to hope not, but the answer is directly related to how many "back yards" are trashed and how many bank accounts are strained as a result.
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* I get to use this word because I've actually written about cofferdams in the past... so there!

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

An explanation for Gurlitzer

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She of the heading above expressed confusion about this post in the comments thread. Too much shorthand in my work there, or I should say not enough longhand.

What's The Matter With Kansas is a book by Thomas Frank that examines why social conservatives reliably have voted against their own best interests (i.e., for Republicans) for the past 40 or 50 years. Wikipedia says Franks:
finds extraordinary irony in working-class Kansans' overwhelming support for Republican politicians, despite his belief that the economic policies of the Republican party are wreaking havoc on their communities and livelihoods for the benefit of the extremely wealthy.
So do I. So I tried linking to a report about Florida Gulf Coast fishermen who were applying for jobs to help BP contain the spill, but got snookered in return for their modest honorarium of $5,000 by agreeing in the fine print to waive all future rights to attempt recovering compensation for any damage or illness that might result from their efforts. In fact, some fishermen are so desperate for cash that they signed the contract with knowledge of the reamjob. That article included slice-of-life interviews with some of the affected people.

Enter stereotyping. I usually avoid this tactic, but let's face it: the "working class" in the Gulf states looks pretty much like an ultraconservative, government-hating Republican voting bloc. Anyway, instead of trying to find the article I originally intended to link I've found another one that's more to the point: a commentary by Dana Milbank of the Post that I cribbed from Cab Drollery with a bank shot through Eschaton. Here it is, and I think it's self-explanatory: people who live in Republican states usually have the luxury of hating government and taxation for legitimate public purposes because their cynical, scumbag leaders make it so easy for them. And for some reason these selfsame states receive federal dollars well in excess of what their tax bases contribute. But when there's a crisis, by Jesus Joseph & Mary, it's the government's duty to step in and make it all go away.

I know that reality is not as simple as all that, but it kinda just makes me want to say, "Fuck you, neighbors. The federal response will address only the national-level issues related to this disaster, such as future coastal safeguards for the entire nation and a comprehensive energy policy that rapidly dis-incentivizes the use of petroleum for fuel of any kind. If you all who benefit from fisheries --- or jobs therein --- and resorts, hifalutin beachfront properties, and quaint rum shacks want some help from the federal government, then first you need to ask yourselves your favorite question: 'Who's gonna pay for it?' Answer: you will pay through a surcharge on your personal and corporate income taxes, set to take effect as soon as you want it to. Before then, not a cent... socialist swine."

Caveat: the above is somewhat slopplily thought out and authored, but I'm just too damn worn out to revise this evening.

Monday, May 3, 2010

What's the matter with Kansas? [updated]

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Gulf of Mexico tutorial here.

Drill, Baby, Drill!

Update: I pasted the wrong link into the first graf, which naturally confused everyone who clicked through. I have replaced that link to a later post explaining myself. Sorry peeps.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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"Interest A-1!" Warning: girls may want to navigate to the "My Little Pony" official site instead of clicking through to watch what he-men were made of in the 1960s.



Are the girls gone now? Good! OK, men, watching The Crusher and cousin Dick The Bruiser, "the shark of the ring" as he's referred to here, was one way a bored 1960s Chicagoland teenage boy might kill time on a Sunday morning when there were no cartoons and nothing else was happening. (Channel 26 if I'm remembering correctly.) As one announcer assures us, "That's blood, fans. That's real, honest-to-goodness blood," spoken with artfully understated hype. It was a simpler time. Really.

This is a classic lambs-to-the-slaughter tag team match. I will direct the attention of younger visitors to the quality of the ringside announcers. The commentary is quite colorful and amusing, but presented in a straight journalistic style that helped to keep us all guessing about whether wrestling was real or not. We never quite knew, although we suspected... but suspected... what?

Worst ever?

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Atrios muses that BP may end up being credited with the worst-ever human-caused disaster. Well, I won't necessarily argue about that because it remains to be seen. But take a look at these pictures from The Boston Globe online (as seen on Eschaton, op cit.). Photos 13 and 14 do a good job of conveying the general sense of what's going on in the water and the puny human response to same.

Even ignoring Hiroshima and Nagasaki as outliers, there are some other pretty heavy contenders for the Worst-Ever Human-Caused Environmental Cataclysm Award. Chernobyl, the flower of Ukraine, would certainly be a finalist. But I think it might be hard (for the moment) to top the utter destruction of the fourth largest lake in the world in Uzbekistan, formerly known as the Aral Sea. But still... maybe we can.

U!  S!  A!    U!  S!  A!    U!  S!  A!

Editor's note: attentive readers may notice that in yesterday's post on this topic I besmirched Russia only half-accurately as the villain behind certain apocalyptic environmental cockups. Neither aforementioned holocaust actually took place on Russian soil (conveniently for Russians), but were instead "a USSR joint." So take my inexcusable journalistic lapse with a grain of morphine.

Let's make the water turn black

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Our finer citizens, many of whom believe that homos cause hurricanes, may need to consider how cute it is to chant "Drill Baby Drill." It's not cute: it's monstrous.

The drip drip drip of analysis (which BP surely knew two weeks ago) indicates that this disaster is on deck to be America's largest water pollution catastrophe, as projected in this NOLA Times-Picayune graph. I think Russia is still way ahead with China a natural favorite in the coming two decades, if that makes you feel any better. And anyway, don't worry: Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal is "losing patience," so we can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

So imagine the eastern Gulf of Mexico, with toxic fisheries and black, gooey beaches writhing with dying birds. Then consider the hypoxic dead zone in the northwestern gulf, made possible by petrochemical companies, agribusiness, and luxuriant suburban lawns. Heckuva job, trickle-downers. I wonder if our finer citizens will ever understand that hurricanes are not caused by homos, but by Republicans. (Volcanos, too.)

"To some it might seem creepy what they do."



(Composition by Frank Zappa for a Cousteau Society documentary, via YouTube, performed by Ensemble Modern.)