Le Petit Riens

That was the title of music by Mozart. It means "the little nothings," I think. The lovely wife is still abed at half-past nine. It's raining gently and I have the front door ajar and can hear the mercy dropping down. Rudy is in the other chair, white socks extended, muzzle on them, eyes closed, breathing heavily in sleep, the soul of serenity. It's 9:39 and all's well.

Senior Dream Team 2008

My slate for 2008, on a Democratic or Independent ticket: President, George McGovern; Vice President, Birch Bayh SENIOR. (Not Evan, his turncoat plastic son who has the conceit that he will run for president. Hmpfh.) McGovern should appoint Jimmy Carter as Secretary of State and Lee Hamilton as Ambassador to the UN. Secretary of Defense, Wesley Clark. Attorney General, Ramsey Clark. Secretary of the Treasury, Paul Krugman (he's pretty young, I guess). These people would be better than anybody serving in government right now. Excellence and integrity.

A Wedding and a Funeral

Sad news for Rosalie's Uncle Eddie and Aunt Rose: they lost their daughter, Bekki, in a car accident in eastern Colorado on July 6. Bekki's daughter Amanda was in the car but survived. Eddie and Rose, and Bekki's two daughters, Amanda and Elise, live in Indiana (Columbus and Seymour). The family had gathered in Denver where the oldest daughter (of four) was just married. Amanda graduated from high school and will be going away to college, but Elise, who is eight, will need a home, and they are praying it won't be with her father, who is said to be mentally unstable. Ed is the most likely prospect of the fathering person but he is now 70. They are all anxious and of course sad. Then there are the details, like transporting Bekki back to Indiana, planning and paying for her burial, etc. It's a mess, and a big loss for them.

They Always Manage Somehow

Ken Lay -- Bush’s buddy, Ken-Boy -- crooked CEO of Enron -- died last night of a heart attack. He was 64. He had been convicted of fraud or whatever and had yet to be sentenced. I am reminded of Hermann Goering's cheating the hangman with a cyanide capsule after conviction at the Nuremburg war crimes trials.

I doubt if Lay ever saw the inside of a jail. I guess I wouldn’t care if the man never went to jail if he would only have made restitution to all the people he deprived of a livelihood. I’m sure his family will have a rich inheritance. Nobody will touch that fortune, be assured. And Ken-Boy can go to his grave with the world knowing he screwed everybody but himself.

Happy Fourth

Outside last night people were shooting off firecrackers. This is the eve of the Fourth, the holiday celebrating this nation’s declaration of independence from Britain in 1776. The founding of what became the United States of America is truly a wonderful and remarkable achievement, and a blessing on its citizens. We are far from perfect. What a lot of our detractors say is true, and I have been one of our most vituperative critics.

I guess what has put me off about patriotism is that it has been hijacked by a bunch of simplistic, my-country-right-or-wrong, America-love it-or-leave-it, gunboat diplomacy, greedy, grabby men. Patriotism means love of country, and loving your country means wanting what’s best for it, and fighting for that -- fighting for your country to do the right thing, the noble, the charitable, the honorable thing.

We are not supposed to be bullies, ruling by might and force and violence. We are supposed to be internationalists, humbly recognizing our place as just one of the sovereign countries on this planet. We certainly should not be saying, "the UN is irrelevant." That's O'Reilly talk.

We are supposed to share our wealth with those less fortunate than we are. We are supposed to address the problems of the world, like poverty, and famine, and disease. We are supposed to make our own country a utopia as much as we can for all of our people so that no one is hungry or sick or poor or uneducated. We are supposed to believe in and fight fiercely for our freedom of speech and the press and religion.

When I think lovingly of the wonderful United States of America, I think of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin -- not George W. Bush and Dick Cheney and Karl Rove. I think of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution and the Bill of Rights -- not the Patriot Act and executive branch secrecy and government eavesdropping, and officially condemning the press (whatever in hell that means). I think of the Peace Corps -- not the Marine Corps. I think of diplomacy that includes diplomats who even speak the language of the country -- not freedom fries and laws making English the official language.

In writing this and posting it on the worldwide web, I am fighting for my country. I am a patriot. God bless the USA and all the people of the world. God have mercy on the USA and all the people of the world.

Regatta Tragedy, 2 July 2006

Most people know by now that a youngster drove a car down to the river at a high speed, crashed through the barricade set up for the Madison Regatta, and injured a dozen people. Mirabile dictu, only a dozen or so people were injured and no one was killed, although several people were hurt badly. At least that is the word so far. The car became airborne and landed in the river. The police are quite interested in obtaining the results of blood tests from the driver of the car. When I first heard of the event, I speculated that this might be the nihilistic behavior of the likes of the boys who shot up Columbine. I'll be interested to hear about further developments.

The Land of Heart's Desire

I'm wandering into the smarmy world of nostalgic musings typically reserved for George Miller and Phil Cole (Madison Courier columnists) when I bring this up, but it came up when Rosie heard me saying, "This is the land of heart's desire. One may do as one wishes." She asked me where the saying originated.

"Doc" Rothert, the Madison schools music teacher, used to give "tea parties" after school, to detain us when we misbehaved in his classes. He was being sarcastic when he would say that, over and over, as part of a performance he would do for us. Kid that I was, I was kind of amused by it, but the more mature girls in our class hated it, quickly concluding that it was tiresome and not making the mistake of repeating an infraction of class deportment that would result in an "invitation" to a tea party. I would actually forgive him and hang around after a tea party to get him to play classical music (Ravel's Bolero comes to mind) on a nifty phonograph he had. The records were 78's in those days.

Doc was kind of a dandy for Madison, having a couple of music degrees, and, it is said, having studied some in a Paris conservatory. He was single all the years I had dealings with him (I was in the high school choir), but late in life he married the French teacher at Hanover College. This dispelled certain suspicions about his practice of taking us young bucks skinny-dipping at night in the crik up at Manville.

For choral pronunciation he taught us what he called "general American diction" and, having somewhat of a flair and a keen interest in language and elocution and having a horror of being regarded as a hillbilly or hick, I paid close attention to his instruction, forever after changed my speech, and as a result I have people still ask me, "Are you from around here?"

This is an installment of my memoirs, I guess. I have a lot more to say about Doc and will some day.

Sic Semper Rags and Demagogues

I've always had my bete noire columnist in whatever the local rag might have been at that point in my life. When we were in Loganport, Indiana under the sufferance of the Pharos-Tribune it was one Charlie Reese. Don't hear of him anymore: don't think he was distinguished, just annoying as hell.

Michael Reagan is it now. He is a Third Base Republican (born on third, thought he hit a triple) who happens to have the Great Distinction of being the Son of Ronald Reagan. He writes inflammatory columns, which the Madison Birdcage Liner sees fit to publish.

Michael's latest tirade accuses the New York Times of treason -- treason, mind you -- for its story disclosing that the Bush administration has been operating another secret dragnet program, this one to sift bank data in hopes of finding transactions related to terrorism.

Well, whenever the supposed free press -- (and by the way, why is a free press important in a democracy? That, in my experience, has proven to be too hard a question for the majority of citizens of this nation, which fact is scary in this supposed democracy) -- whenever the press decides to print information, the responsible members of it take certain criteria into consideration: Is it the truth, unvarnished and unbiased? Is it in the public interest? Is it dedicated to the principle that a democracy --a government of the people, by the people, and for the people -- is at its best when the press is free of coercion from its government, or from big corporations, or organized crime. Is it not merely propaganda?

The New York Times has taken the position that its publication of the story on the government's surveillance of bank data (as well as illegal NSA eavesdropping recently, for which it won a Pulitzer prize) was in the public interest. We need to know what our government is doing to us. We cannot take their word for it. Certainly not this Potemkin village, this government-paid stooges-posing-as-reporters, this post-1984, this fascist government.

As for this disclosure's endangering us because it gives something away to the terrorists, that is so much arrant horse shit. The Wall Street Journal, so much in the pocket of the Bushies, has published the same thing. The Fox (FNN, Fascist News Network) boys have been ranting about the story ever since it happened. Why not accuse them of treason too for making such a big fuss? They're reminding the terrorists that we're on to them. (The terrorists are of course as stupid as the motorsickle gang in "Any Which Way but Loose," right?) No WTC/Pentagon tragedies will occur because the Times did their bounden duty to inform the American public of what clandestine things their government is doing to them.

Whenever the Bush-Cheney-Rove axis gets het up about an issue, think of playing to their base and thinking of their next election. Cherchez les Novembre 2006. Why is it always fundraisers with the country-club fat cats and undemocratically goon-screened "town meetings" for Our Beloved President at which entities such as the Communistic New York Times and other Enemies of America are denounced? Go figure.

As for Michael Reagan, if he can accuse the NYT of "treason," then I accuse him of "libel." He is an Enemy of America. And full of it too, come to think of it.

Vegetable Soup!

Big pot of it cooking on the stove right now, compliments of Chef Rozz. Extremely simple to prepare, heart-smart, delicious, and it gets better every time you reheat it. Stuff defies the laws of chemistry and physics. Rosie puts a little stew beef in ours. Her mother wouldn't let her in the kitchen when she was a kid and therefore she taught herself to cook while raising three little kids and working as an ER- and general hospital-nurse while still a kid (at least chronologically) herself. And did a deuced good job! She is awesome, I find out more and more every day. We had a boffo time last night. From Netflix, we watched "Bad Boys" starring Will Smith as a Miami vice cop and Martin Lawrence as his sidekick. (Actually, it must have been the other way around since Lawrence had first billing, as he should have because he was quite good.) The movie struck our funny bones and we were laughing out loud. We were in a screwball mood and the two of us rode to the library and post office at midnight to get movies where they were to go. I dared Rosie to go with me in her nightie and she not only did so but got out of the car to drop the Netflix movies in at the post office!

Awesome Offspring

Amanda, Amber, Natalie, and Jerry showed up last evening for a birthday gathering. We had carry-in Chinese, birthday cake, and ice cream. They spent the night sleeping in tents in Clifty Falls State Park. I brooded (I do Mother Hen well) while J & N were en route and incommunicado -- all day yesterday. Mandy relayed the message late in the day that they were in Brown County and they said they had 120 miles to go. Knowing that the most direct route was many fewer miles than that, I figured they were so tired that they were disoriented. Turns out they went from 46 down Indiana 135 to Salem and came from there. The estimated mileage, then, was about right. Reason for the "detour"? They still hadn't had enough sightseeing. I went to visit them at the park this morning and they had a shower, packed their gear, and took off on those bikes, heading straight for Chicago. Natalie called before six to let me know they'd gotten home so I wouldn't worry. As I noted a long time ago, i have remained a prayin' man because of my kids. Which always reminded me of when Amanda worked overnight at the gas-and-convenience mart. Blessings on my awesome offspring, wherever they are.

JT Redux

Sixty-seven today. Life is good.

Last night we watched Secondhand Lions, about two old eccentrics (Michael Caine and Robert Duvall) who live on a secluded farm in Texas. This bimbo, their niece, drops her son, about twelve or thirteen, on them. They like to sit on their front porch and shoot their shotguns at traveling salesmen. They have five dogs, a pig, and, after time, a lioness, who the kid talks them into buying, and who he names "Jasmine." (A giraffe makes a cameo appearance.) Michael Caine as a droll, wise old Texan (he's a Brit, you know) is delightful. So is the menagerie. This movie is a keeper. It may soon rank up there with The Milagro Beanfield War among my favorites.

Just finished The Stone Monkey, by Jeffery Deaver. I loved it and there are more. The Stone Monkey has this Chinese hit man who makes Hannibal Lecter look like Mister Rogers. "Lincoln Rhyme," a quadruplegic "criminalist," directs operations from his wheelchair, and "Amelia Sachs," plainclothes cop, and of course a knockout (in this case red-haired), does his legwork. In this novel there is a Chinese cop named "Sonny Li," who has Jackie Chan written all over him. I hope this one makes it to the screen.

Doc Natalie and Jerry are scheduled to trek here from Shy on their BMW motorsickles tomorrow. They're going to camp in Clifty with Amanda and Amber. Can't wait to see them. Natalie finished her internship, yesterday being her last day.

My friend Jerry Y. offered to help with a podcast of film music so that is not dead. Shuck and jive shall not win out!

I continue to exercise, eat right, and lose weight. I have rehab in an hour. It's fun and I'm making great progress.

Sixty-seven today. Life is good.

My Year in Radio: Relax, Garrison K., The Threat Is Over

Just about one year ago, I was listening to the classical music station which I have set on both car radios and the living room radio. The DJ of then played the music of "Star Trek," the Alexander Courage theme from the TV show. (Shatner was always a butterball but he could still barely get away with wearing a close-fitting shirt and not looking utterly ridiculous. But I digress. Kirk out.)

I sent her an email saying I liked film music and that I would like to hear more. She replied, saying that the program director had expressed interest in programming more film music and that I ought to get in touch with him -- strike while the iron is hot.

I did and he invited me to the studio and we started talking about my being the DJ for a weekly one-hour show of music of the movies. He asked me to put some programs together and encouraged me in every way. He told people there that I was going to be doing a show and they were greeting me when I would visit the studio.

I did make up six or so shows, selecting themes and songs from many movies, burning them to CDs, and writing scripts for my commentary between numbers. I love movies and classical music and film music, so it looked like this was the career niche for me (at last). The plan was for him and me to record the programs in the studio and, by golly, I thought, air those suckers.

Well, it never happened. After much noodging on my part, we finally got part of one program in the computer. He told me he'd decided (this was all of a sudden) that he'd better run the show by a higher-up to make sure it was approved and that we would stop recording for now until he had done that.

Well, I tried to remind him occasionally that he'd said he'd meet with the VP, and a round of shuck and jive, of excuses and apologies ensued. In March of this year, after one last email, I gave up.

Day before yesterday I had an email from His Shiftiness. More shuck and jive and excuses and apologies about how he'd tried to convince the higher powers of the value of a film music show -- he didn't actually say he was trying to salvage my show: I guess he considers he might go to hell for outright lying.

But the bottom line came at last, after much milk of magnesia and several enemas and digging out of the impaction: "I'm sorry we can't use your show..." Then the real agenda became apparent in an attachment: it was a sample of what he himself plans to do on the new digital station which will be airing sometime in the near future. He then had the chutzpah to ask me to help, "if you want to," by suggesting film music selections.

(Did he suspect I might not want to after realizing what a number he has done on me? "Chutzpah," by the way, we know from lovers of Yiddish, is that quality of the man who murders his parents and then begs for mercy from the court because he is an orphan.)

I replied to the gentleman, Thanks but no thanks. Actually, I did not dignify with a reply the offer of a sop, a consolation prize, of being a "consultant." I just asked the gentleman to finish the program we'd started recording last year and send me a CD of it as a keepsake of my "days in radio." I asked him not to reply in words, just send the disc, because "People may doubt what you say, but they will always believe what you do."

So Gary K. (and Alan B.), my threat of being a radio personality is past. Relax your sphincters. Amen.

guzzling through the apocalypse

I came up the hill a while ago and was almost run over by an SUV -- a big-assed American make -- driving like li'l ole 421 was the Autobahn. I wonder what kind of mileage that sucker (gas-sucker) gets. I wonder if the driver has any notion that "the end" is near -- the end of plentiful fossil fuels and the prerogative to squander them? Could it be that the next president and congress will crack down? Impose a national speed limit of 55 once again, by executive order, as Tricky Dick did in the seventies? Work for a windfall profit tax on Big Oil? Kick the ass of GM for manufacturing its gas guzzlers and not let them wiggle out of their responsibility to produce efficient (and, incidentally, clean) automobiles? Mandate moving ahead as quickly as possible with a concerted plan to develop wind and solar energy and other ways to stop the insane waste? God deliver us. Amen.

Try Again, Dear Hearts and Gentle People

There was a song when I was about a little kid that went: "I love those dear hearts and gentle people / Who live in my home town." Well, I know I have many dear hearts and gentle people who have tried to make comments on my blog and couldn't because of my stupidity with regard to managing my blog. SO -- I THINK YOU CAN ADD COMMENTS NOW. SO PLEASE TRY. AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT. Love to all, JT.

Plus ca change, ...

The day we got the news that Zarqawi was killed I became depressed. I knew we'd be in for another declaration of "Mission Accomplished." (Keith Olbermann tells us every evening at the end of Countdown how many days it has been since that first declaration. The relatively subdued tone with which His Cockiness announced Zarqawi's demise (in the Rose Garden, in his dark blue suit and dark red power tie, trying to look presidential -- and intelligent, I suppose) fooled those who wanted to be fooled, of course. Then there it was: the secret whisking away to the Green Zone of Iraq for photo-ops and sound bites. Public relations and savagely partisan politics. I'd say, "The more things change, the more they remain the same." But every time they get into a little trouble they bounce back up like the Bobo clown doll. And while they manage to look good enough to their "base," they trudge on down the road to hell taking all of us with them. Think about it: redistribution of wealth, degradation of the environment, amassing of the national debt, erosion of civil rights, moving ever closer to a police state. On and on. Oh God, would you please deliver us from this regime?

This I Believe

Last night we watched Good Night, and Good Luck, the George Clooney film which stars the awesome David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow, the CBS newsman who helped bring down Senator Joe McCarthy in the 1950's. McCarthy, who is not played by an actor but instead shown exclusively in recordings throughout the movie, conducted a witch hunt of "Communists" and in the process gave immense aid and comfort to our enemies. That hideous man was debunked and we got past that period somehow and breathed easy for a while.

We have a government now that in its "war on terrorism" is giving aid and comfort to our enemies. The thing I find most oppressive right now is the demand of the government to know everything about us -- everything -- but to reveal nothing about itself -- nothing. The air is pretty stifling these days and I'm finding it very hard to breathe.

buck, bela, john-john and me

I guess I have pretty catholic, some might say schizophrenic, tastes in music: at the library the other day I borrowed two CDs: one was Volume One of Buck Owens' All Time Greatest Hits and the other was orchestral works by Bela Bartok, the mighty twentieth century Hungarian composer. My beloved son John introduced me to Buck, one night in Florida when Amanda and I were riding in his truck. I never thought I would waste my time with country music, but, true to the adage that there are two kinds of music, good and bad, I swear off my intolerance of good music that happens to be country. John-John likes it, Garrison Keillor likes it, Mick Jagger likes it. We may yet find out that Itzhak Perlman and Yo-Yo Ma are closet admirers of George Jones. (Maybe not, but...)

The Bartok disc contained Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, which appears in two familiar American movies, "Being John Malkovich" and "The Shining." In spite of the stumbledick I'd counted on to get me to the big-time who instead let me down, I'm determined to do some kind of show on movie music, i-Pod or something, and I'm continuing to do research. It will happen. And there'll be plenty of room for hillbilly music. Yee-ha!

Whaddaya think, Aldous Huxley?

This evening we watched "Charly," starring Cliff Robertson and Claire Bloom. (Excuse the digression: God, how I long for the days when women acted and dressed like Claire does in this movie.)

"Charly," who because of an operation goes from being retarded to a genius (and who then has the good sense to seduce his gorgeous, sexy teacher, played by Claire -- OK -- no more digressions, I promise. Well, just one: the music is by Ravi Shankar and I wonder if it's on CD) is asked by a panel of scientists what the future of civilization is going to be. He replies, “Brave new hate, brave new bombs, brave new war.”

In 1968, I might have thought that was a melodramatic answer. But here we are in this brave new year, our nation at war -- an unjust war (are there really any just ones?) -- killing and being killed, and an administration that is corrupt, greedy, ruthless to its enemies, which include me because I dissent. Brave new hate. And most of the haters claim to be obedient to the One who said that the two great commandments are to love. (Let's see: isn't love the opposite of hate?)

Culture of Death

The American culture of death lost a round when Zacarias Moussaoui received a sentence of life in prison instead of death for his part in the tragedy of 9/11. Jurors considered "mitigating circumstances" in his case and most of them decided such circumstances were great enough to withhold the death penalty. The prosecution and victims of family members were disappointed.

When I say the "culture of death," I refer to those who are almost always "pro-life" in the case of the unborn but otherwise are pro-capital punishment, pro-war, pro-guns, and pro-damnation for their opponents. Their undisputed leader is George W. Bush, who so callously and adamantly blessed the executions of people when he was governor of Texas and who has damned thousands of American soldiers to their death and disabilities for his stinking war.

Feeling Well

I get a little stronger and feel a little better each day. I'm grateful for that. Very grateful. We're going to a birthday luncheon for Rosie's dad's 93rd after a while. It's a beautiful spring day. Long live Howard! Long live JT!