Batman, Guantanamo, and Me

Strange thing, I’m discovering. I’m 35, and comics suddenly are meaning more to me than they have since I was in high school.

In order for you to understand, I’m going to have to give you some background. On some comic book plots. If you’re normally not into the comic-booky goodness on this site, bear with me. I have a larger point than how cool Bloodhound is. (Still cool, by the way. Cancelled, but cool.)

In case you are planning to pick some of these books up, I’ll be discussing plot points from Identity Crisis, The Omac Project, and the “Sacrifice” crossover that ran through last month’s Superman and Wonder Woman titles.

The main one is Identity Crisis. Quick rundown: Sue Dibney, wife of the Elongated Man, was murdered. One of the chief suspects is Dr. Light, a villain long considered a buffoon. During the course of the investigation, the reader discovers a secret kept by a handful of Justice Leaguers – that years ago, Sue had been raped by a much more dangerous Dr. Light. The League apprehended him moments later, but even caught, he claimed he would do it again. And these members took a vote, and decided to alter his personality magically so that he couldn’t. (They had previously erased their secret identities from other villains' minds; this was a bigger deal.)

As this was being done, things got complicated. Batman arrived on the scene, and saw what the League was doing. He objected, and the members opted to use the magic on him, as well – stripping away those ten minutes of memory.

So Light becomes a joke, and Batman is missing ten minutes of time. It might not bother anyone else, but they’re not Batman. They say it’s often not the crime that gets you in trouble, but the cover-up, and that’s the case here. In The Omac Project, we learn that Batman eventually pulled his memory back together and realized he can’t trust even the Justice League. He sets up spy satellites to monitor superhuman activity.

These have secretly been taken over in a comic-book/SF way, by a guy named Max Lord. Lord has limited mind control power, but he’s spent years working on a way to control Superman. He sets him off, having Superman beat Batman into intensive care. Wonder Woman tries to stop him, and she and Superman get into a knock-down, drag-out. Eventually she gets her Lasso of truth around Lord, and she asks him: What do I have to do to eliminate your hold on Superman. Unable to lie, he says “Kill me.”

She does.

So this is pretty much where things stand. Batman has spied on his fellow heroes. Wonder Woman has killed a man. Superman, while he didn’t participate, actually knew about the memory wipes of supervillains and didn’t say anything; they helped keep Lois safe, after all. Now some supervillains have regained their memory and have attacked the Justice League’s loved ones. And the time has come to vote again as to what to do.

This stuff has been knocking me out. It’s not all hero vs. villain stuff, or at least not all black and white. It raises all sorts of questions: Is safety worth constant surveillance? How far should a hero go to protect others? What happens when you cross a moral or ethical line in order to protect someone? Will you cross it again? Is the line permanently redrawn? And if we draw that line too timidly, and fail to act with enough force, are we culpable for any deaths that stronger action could have presented? Can we trust the people who protect us? Should we?

These questions lead to questions about superhero tropes in general. What right, for instance, does Superman have to send someone to the Phantom Zone? Why does Batman get to break and enter to find evidence of a crime, or beat up thugs for information. Why is it okay for Green Lantern to put a supervillain out of harm’s way in a green cage on the moon, but if I lock up someone in my basement I’m a dangerous sicko?

It makes me think of the internment camps at Guantanamo Bay, and the prisons in Abu Ghraib. Locking up people without due process is wrong – but is it keeping us safer? Some people think so. Torture is wrong, but some people think it’s effective, despite the evidence that the information it yields is unreliable.

What the comics let me – and people all over comic book message boards -- do is this: They let us discuss these issues of ethics, morality, power and security while keeping our preexisting political viewpoints out of it. The ideas we’re talking about are relevant to the times we live in, yet aren’t charged with the rhetoric that inflames most political discussion (including my own, certainly).

Also, it lets me look obliquely at these issues without reducing me to a quivering lump of despair and fear. Terrorists will try to attack us on our home soil again, just as Dr. Light promised to find Sue once he escaped.

This is not a new idea, I realize. Science fiction and fantasy have always addressed contemporary issues, and comics are no different. But it’s taken me a while to articulate it, since it’s more a metaphor of tone than an analogy with direct correlations in the plot.

And I have to say that I’m hooked. What I’m getting lately are adventure stories that have relevance to my own life. But instead of trying to deal with reality in the plot, their hook is in the theme: What moral compromises are we willing to make to keep our loved ones safe? It’s a fascinating struggle, and one I don’t think any hero can truly win.

Rob

The Big Squeeze

Check out Political Animal on oil. Scary.

Rob

Prophetic Dream

I am atremble.

I woke up in the middle of the night, after what I can only call a prophetic dream.

I this dream, I told myself (or someone wise that I trust told me – it’s hard to remember):

You have two mountains to climb,
Two novels to write.
One grown from hope,
The other rooted in fear.

What really freaked me out was the feeling I got that I was supposed to work on both of them at once – probably the surest way to complete neither of them.

Still, the dream also had me convinced that, with the write slopes and putting the right English on it, I could snowboard from Montana to my house and back. So nothing’s impossible, I guess.

Rob

I’m an Insensitive Lout

After rereading my post below, I want to clarify something.

When I gave my loose definition of a person as “someone with a birthday,” I was generalizing for comedic effect. Obviously, viability issues come into play, but, not having been through the whole parenthood process, I’m not really sure at what point that starts, or if it’s different for every baby, or what. Better not to go into it, I figured.

More importantly, however, I also don’t have firsthand knowledge of how a mother feels about the child growing inside her, or how a father feels about the child growing 2 feet to the left of him when they go to the movies. (Can’t pinpoint their relative positions, otherwise.) I can guess. And I didn’t mean to dismiss that bond in my earlier post.

Essentially, I was speaking of the fetus’s legal status more than the fetus itself. Splitting hairs, I know, but I think it’s important that the law doesn’t confuse children with beings with the potential to be children. If the law were to recognize a potential future event, I’d be locked up for murder a hundred times. You too, probably.

Maybe for killing insensitive louts like me.

I apologize if I upset anyone. It wasn't my intention.

Rob

Too Hot For Ya?

Rest easy. Hell's about to freeze over. I have a kind word to say about Rick Santorum.

This putzwad may actually not be a hypocrite. In one area. Until he backpedals like Bizarro Lance Armstrong, that is.

See, what with all the furrowed brows and concerned tones over so-called human life (such as stem cells and whatnot), he and his cronies tend to focus a little obsessively on abortion -- when plenty of what fits their drastically lowered bar for "human" gets thrown away is bio-bags every day from fertility clinics. And Rick's against it.

And okay, I think he's wrong about this, like he's wrong about stem cells and abortion. I'm no scientist, but in the broadest possible terms, here's my definition of a person: someone with a birthday. Without that, you're not in the fraternity yet. You're pledging.

But Rick believes differently. Through and through, apparently. And while I disagree and think he's a poisonous whackjob, at least he's consistent.

So congratulations, Rick Santorum, on taking that bold stance against couples who desperately want to have kids. Say no to parenthood. Maybe infertile couples shouldn't be able to marry, either?

Rob

(P.S. In case you were searching, the kind word was putzwad...which is much more polite than santorum.)

Testing, Testing

Just wanting to see if I can get one of these new-fangled picture thingies to work. Let's see, shall we?

Well lookee that! There's Pogo!

You know, I've gotta read more Pogo one of these days. Walt Kelly's comic stip was praised up, down and middle, but I don't remember it being in our newspaper until a watered-down revival of it (without Kelly, from what I recall) showed up around when I was in high school. Didn't seem like any great shakes to me then, so I didn't read it. But the few reprints I've read -- and the out-and-out applicability of the above quote -- are reason enough to buy a fat collection and dig in.

Rob

It's Carnival Time...

...and everybody's drinkin' wine...

The Carnival of NJ Bloggers is up at the Center of NJ Life this week. Pay a visit. Find a new blog. Eat some funnel cake. Throw some beads. And by all means, join the second line and shake your thing!

Here's the link.

Rob

Okay, I did it too.

Here are the results of my 3-D humor survey:

the Wit

(65% dark, 30% spontaneous, 16% vulgar)

your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK
You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probablyan intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb'can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudenessfor its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternityleave you totally flat.

I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.

Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

Which is all well and good, and I like the company I keep, but what sort of motherfucking language do I have to use to get a higher "vulgar" rating, you cocksuckers?? Sixteen goddamn percent doesn't nearly fucking cut it, muthergrabber.

Just sayin'.

UPDATE: Here’s the link.

Rob

A Few Good Books

"You want me on that shelf! You NEED me on that shelf!"

Been reading a bit this summer. And listening to books on tape. Here's a rundown on my recent reads.

Catch-22. I know I wrote about this before, but I just want to say again that Joseph Heller's abusrdist look at the military (a microcosm for American society, turned up to 11 via life-and-death situations) is something to marvel at. It's very episodic, and completely disjointed in time, lulling the reader into a feeling that it's a collection of anecdotes loosely strung together, sort of like watching reruns of M*A*S*H on both TBS and the Hallmark channel, where TBS is still in the Trapper years and Hallmark is post-Radar. But then things start connecting. You might not ever realize it at first, since incidents are told from different points of view, and no one ever seems to get the full story. (Was that naked man in the tree during the funeral a hallucination? Must've been...)

The structure of the book is byzantine and rewarding, but the message ("War is stupid, and people are stupid," as Culture Club would say) is clear from the start, but gets reinforced gently at first, but then with greater and greater strength. The book is about power and aggression, a gigantic king-of-the-hill game of army against army, general against general against major against captain against sergeant. It begins amusing, and ends with desperation and brutality. Maybe the message is really "I fight authority, authority always wins." But despite the depression and the futility, there's hope in the fight. I still can't talk about it clearly, but for god's sake, read it.

Then there's The Cold Six Thousand, by James Ellroy. Man, is his writing easy to parody.

Ellroy writes. Ellroy types short sentences. Ellroy loves jive. Ellroy vibes cool. Ellroy uses racial epithets. Ellroy gut-punches readers. Ellroy works a knife around in the wound. Ellroy starts his book with Jack. Jack's in Dallas. Jack's a sitting duck. Jack's a dead man, and three guys are in the middle of it.

Ellroy tails them. They go to Vegas. They go to Vietnam. They go to Klan rallies and race riots. They plot. They undermine. They kill and age and get taken for chumps. They talk to J. Edgar Hoover. They see it all happen from the inside. Ellroy follows them through Martin. He follows them through Bobby. He watches. We watch. We see it all go down.

Good god, that's addictive. I listened to this book on tape, and the staccato sentences sometimes got on my nerves, but they set a wild, propulsive tone that never really lets go. Ellroy's one of my favorite writers, but I always need a break (and often a shower) after reading one of his books. His is not a head I want to spend too long in. If you're new to Ellroy, don't start with this one. American Tabloid introduces these characters. The Black Dahlia is also a good choice.

I also listened to Bushworld, by Maureen Dowd. It's a collection of her columns. I expected to like the more recent stuff more, as the seediness of the Bush White House has seeped into view, but it turns out the earlier columns were more illuminating. It's hard to put yourself in the mindset of a couple of years ago -- how do the older columns stack up against what we hazily remember from Pre-9-11 Bush? Otherwise, though, the book seemed repetitive and more than a little precious to me. Get it from the library and flip and skim. Don't overdose.

Probably the standout of the summer was A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey. This is a first-hand account of Frey's time in a rehabilitation center to recover from his addictions to alcohol and crack cocaine. Frey's writing style is immediate and brutally honest. I wasn't really expecting to like the book -- my brother Tom gave it to me and made me promise to read it, but the subject matter didn't interest me in the least. Shows what I know. Pieces grabbed me from the first page, and pulled me along through a ton of horrifying shit -- including a dental visit without the use of any painkillers that's about the worst thing I've ever heard about anyone actually enduring.

The best thing about the book is that you really do get a sense of Frey's struggle, but also of his accomplishments toward his recovery. He rejects a lot of the tried-and-true recovery methods -- AA's Twelve Steps -- and just pushes toward his goal with guts and determination. Along the way, he meets a number of interesting people -- chief among them is his friend Leonard, a connected wiseguy who's also getting clean. Frey's followup is called My Friend Leonard, and you can bet I'll read it as soon as it's in paperback. I can't recommend this highly enough. Thanks, Tom.

Those are my picks. Whaddya say, sirs?

Rob

Big Night

Last night Kathy & I stayed out late to see Glory Road, Greg Senf and Gregory Max's musical updating of Tartuffe with a family of televangelists. It was a lot of fun, and heck, we even got to see our friend Jesse sing! The only thing that marred the evening was the theft of one of the actors' guitars during the show. The building has security cameras, but who knows if they actually have tapes running in them. Either way, there's little chance of getting it back, and my heart goes out to her.

Years ago, I had a trenchcoat stolen from a theater. I was using it as a costume for something, and it just disappeared overnight. It's a horrible feeling, to have a place you feel is safe suddenly proven to be anything but. To get shaken up like that in the middle of a show, and still have to perform? She's a trooper, and a fine actress, to boot. I never suspected anything was wrong.

The night before, we went to another Spontaneous Combustion, in which our friend Jen wrote one piece and acted in another. It was another fun night; a couple of the plays were seriously inventive, and most of the rest were breezy, lighthearted fun. Overall I'd rank it a stronger night than the one I was in, but then, I always did like the funny.

Tonight, though? Straight home, then sleep.

Rob

In a World... With a Limo...

Via Mark Evanier, here's a great little video featuring all those voiceover guys you hear in the trailers. Funny stuff.

Rob

Condolences

My heartfelt condolences go out the the families, friends, and troop members of the scoutmasters who died at the Boy Scout Jamboree. I've deleted my earlier post about the Jamboree (unrelated to the accident) in order to make sure the two subjects weren't conflated. I certainly wouldn't make light of this tragedy.

Rob

Spontaneous Wrap-up

In case you're curious (and hell, even if you're not. Sometimes I feel like I'm writing this so I can know what I was thinking a year ago...no audience required), Spontaneous Combustion went very well. The play I wrote, "Under the Boardwalk," was really well-received, thanks to the two wonderful actors who brought it to its virtual life, Jennifer Moses and Adi Kurtchik. Both of them continued to play and experiment with the roles through the show's three-night run. Adi came out of the dressing room in a completely new costume on Monday night, and a new personality to suit it. (Consequently, she was able to sell the final joke of the piece much better -- her visual alone set up the gag.) Jennifer had a dynamite "hooker sneer" which transformed into an devious smile as she began her sales pitch.

The evening itself was a mixed bag -- which it pretty much has to be, considering its origins. There were serious pieces -- which I think is pretty ballsy to even try, considering the format -- and funny pieces, including one (no, make that two) that were even more gonzo than mine. Which takes a lot of gonzo, believe you me.

Most important, though, was the sense of working together toward something wild and temporary. As much pressure-induced creativity as results from writing, acting and staging a play that didn't exist at all 48 hours before curtain, is the same amout of freedom in knowing that whatever you do, even if you screw up colossally, it'll all be gone by Wednesday.

But we didn't. We did well, and I'm proud.

Rob

Things I Miss from Childhood

I read this topic on Miss New Orleans’ blog, and thought I’d chime in. (While you’re there, check out this great post about a mysterious email.)

I miss these five things from childhood:

1) Riding my bike. And not just riding it aimlessly, but using it to go places. Used to be I’d go everywhere on it, and now, I don’t even have one. I should do something about that—especially since I’m once again living in a neighborhood where I can actually reach places I’d want to go by bike. Problem is, I still haven’t gotten over the psychological impediment that helmets are goony.

2) Dad, Nan and Aunt Esther. There are more relatives I miss, but these are the three that are gone that spring to mind. I think about Aunt Es’s love of old music, and realize I totally took that for granted when she was around. I miss walking into the family room and sitting down to watch a couple innings of the Phils with Dad. I’ve watched a little baseball since then, but it just isn’t the same. And Nan could always make me laugh, even when she wasn’t trying. Make that Especially when she wasn’t trying. I still have the $50 bill she gave me on the last Christmas she was alive. There just hasn’t been anything special enough to spend it on yet.

3) Seeing my friends every day. I’m not just talking about my childhood friends, either (although it’d be damn nice to see them more than once in a blue moon, too—although I’m as much to blame for that as anyone else). I’m talking about being in a little community of friends to hang with day in and day out. For most of the year, we were all at school; during the summer, we were at the pool. I’ve got a group of friends I see at work every day, and I always have fun with them, but I can’t kid you to say that it’s the same. Luckily, I get to see my wife every day (who inexplicably remains friendly to me), and I’ve got a damn good group of friends who I get to see more often than most grownups do (or at least, more often than it seemed my parents saw their friends). But those occasions when I get to see my friends constantly—a week down the shore, or Folk Fest—are magic.

4) My hair. Yeah, I’m a baldy. And I actually don’t mind it; if I keep my hair trimmed short it actually looks pretty good on me (I think). But damn if I don’t miss actually having options for it. Part it on the left, right or middle? Grow it long and shaggy? Ponytail? Spiked? Now, it’s either trimmed or it needs to be trimmed. Or its shaved altogether. (I’d also like the exuberance of having zero body fat back; another good reason to get that bike.)

5) Suspense and surprise. I love comics. I love reading comics, and reading about comics. I miss riding my bike to the drugstore and buying two comics and a box of Lemonheads. But I really miss having essentially no idea of what was going to happen in the next issue of the comics I buy. I don’t know if it’s possible to cocoon myself from spoilers so completely and still actually buy comics (and be informed of new books I might like)—particularly since, process junkie that I am, I love reading interviews with creators. Buy man, those few times when they actually pull the rug out form under me, I friggin’ love them for it.

So that’s my list. I’m going to formally tag Andrew to list his, but if you feel like self-tagging, just let me know in the comments section and go to it!

Rob

Everybody! Everybody!

Fausta is hosting this week’s Carnival of New Jersey Bloggers at her Bad Hair Blog. Go see!

Rob

Quick Update Before ZZZs

Spontaneous Combustion 18 is kicking off with a bang. It looks like I've got a script to hand my actors tomorrow...and hopefully I haven't flagrantly mixed any metaphors in it (such as, oh, I don't know, "kicking off with a bang?").

Seriously, I wrote another bizarro piece, and can't wait to see what Adi and Jennifer bring to it.

Rob
(Done at around three, buzzed with simple syrup iced tea until now.)

Unregistered!

By the way, every now and then I'll link to a newspaper that requires registration to view its articles. In case you didn't know, you can get around that l'il step.

Just go to bugmenot.com and enter the url of the paper. The site'll spit you out a working username and password that will get you in and read what you want, without having to worry about being spammed for your troubles. It's an extra step to take, but the moment you spend now could save you time in the future, crawing out form a pile of spam -- and you can keep the rest of your information private, too.

Rob

High-Caliber Reporting

I’vebeen thinking a lot about a journalist’s right to protect a source’s anonymity.I understand the need to keep these secrets; it’s the expectation of confidentiality that gives some people the nerve to talk to a reporter in the first place.

Onthe other hand, there are plenty of people who take advantage of this supposed bond of secrecy. For instance, someone (or several someones) was leaking Judge Ethel Clement’s name as Bush’s pick all over Tuesday morning, in order to build the suspense for his Supreme Court press conference that night.I agree with Atrios on this point:Reporters should press the source for where they got the disinformation from– and if the source can’t give up their puppetmaster, then out them. Part of the bond is that the source is playing straight with the journalist; if he’s intentionally lying, the whole thing is null and void. But even in this case, there’s no reason for the law to get involved. It’s something that should be worked out between the reporter and the duplicitous slimeball…I mean, “source.”

Butthen there’s the matter of the Plame case. In this case, the leakers almostcertainly had another motive for speaking to reporters. And I agree with Molly Ivins’ sentiments when she writes in her July 14^th column:

Look, reporters come armed with a notebook and a pencil. They do not carry guns, they do not have the powerto arrest people, they do not have subpoena power, they cannot force peopleto talk by holding them as material witnesses, they cannot sneak into theirhomes and read their computers. Generally speaking, if the law can't make a case without help from a reporter, they're incompetent.

What makes this different – and, I think, what makes Fitzgerald’s subpoenas to journalists valid – is not that a crime has been committed. Not even the severity of the crime – as severe as treason – makes the call for Matt Cooperand Judith Miller to deliver their sources proper. (Yes, it is legal; I justthink that it’s an action that’s damaging to our free society.) What makes this case an exception is that, in this case, journalism was used to commit the crime.

In a murder, homicide detectives search high and low for the murder weapon, knowing that by examining its condition and discovering its history they may findthe key to solving the crime. This case is the same: Journalism is what revealed Valerie Plame as a covert agent. But who pulled the trigger? The prosecutor, I believe, has the right and the duty to investigate the matter fully, asif he were a ballistics expert with a .38.

Rob

3…2…1…Ignition

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while. This weekend I’ll be participating in my second “Spontaneous Combustion” at Manhattan Theatresource. My first was so much fun that I’ve been keeping an eye out for another one ever since.

Here’s the deal. On Friday night, a bunch of writers will hook up (at random) with two actors each. We’ll be given a first line, a last line, and some sort of cultural reference to work into the script (last time, someone had to do an impression). Then we go home and write write write, returning on Saturday, jumpy and bleary-eyed, to give five-minute scripts to the cast.

After a few rehearsals and a lot more read-throughs, the night of one-acts goes up on Sunday night and runs through Tuesday.

I’m pumped. Last time, I wrote a short play called “Head Shots” that I think turned out really well – particularly since the actors I was paired with knocked it out of the park. This time – once again – I have no idea what I’ll write. I just know that, by Saturday at noon, I’ll have a new play.

I hope it’s good.

UPDATE: I've added a few links in case you want to come to the show. (Sunday through Tuesday at 8 p.m.)

Ro

Okay, spill. Was it one of you regulars?

I just looked up my site stats, and I noticed one word, googled twice to find me.

The word?

Ninjatarian.

Now, I just Googled it too, and as far as I can tell, it's only other use is someone's screen name -- and maybe a defunct gamer ID. Could be the same guy, for all I know.

Have I started a meme? Or did one of you guys forget my url and figure the n-word was the quickest way to get here?

By the way, someone else was looking for a definition of schoolmarmism (via several sources) and came here. And, naturally, "underage thai" is still gets the perv vote. Also "amputee models." Got no idea what that's about. Sheesh.

Rob

Homicide. Oz. Batman?

Yep. Tom Fontana, guiding force behind Homicide and Oz (as well writing for St. Elsewhere, which really needs to be available on DVD) is writing a Batman graphic novel for DC.

Now let's get him to guest-write an issue of Gotham Central...

Rob

Wow.

If you haven't yet, read this Frank Rich piece before it goes up behind The Times' pay-to-see wall. He does a great job pointing out what's forest and what's trees.

This case is about Iraq, not Niger. The real victims are the American people, not the Wilsons. The real culprit - the big enchilada, to borrow a 1973 John Ehrlichman phrase from the Nixon tapes - is not Mr. Rove but the gang that sent American sons and daughters to war on trumped-up grounds and in so doing diverted finite resources, human and otherwise, from fighting the terrorists who attacked us on 9/11. That's why the stakes are so high: this scandal is about the unmasking of an ill-conceived war, not the unmasking of a C.I.A. operative who posed for Vanity Fair.

Rob

The Ninjatarianism Isn't Working...

...and besides, I had criminally good ribs the other night. Ribs so good I should be put in jail just for making them.

However, I've decided that, instead of eating only ninjas, I shall now eat only food killed or prepared by ninjas. Yes, I'm going ninja-kosher.

Thing is, ninjas are a secretive bunch. You can't expect them to put a little N in a circle on every cut of meat they butcher or cake they bake. That's against the ninja code. So, I'll have to assume that most food I can eat is prepared by ninjas unless I'm explicity told otherwise. The exception is brussels sprouts, since whoever heard of a ninja from Brussels. (Six foot four and fulla muscles, maybe, but can he drip poison down a string to kill James Bond? I don't think so!)

So there you have it.

Rob

Testify

Here's a link to info on a sure-to-be-controversial new series from Vertigo. I'm interested.

Rob

Evan Hunter, R.I.P.

I flipped through today's Entertainment Weekly and got a bit of a jolt. Evan Hunter had died. He was one of my favorite writers, although, oddly enough, I don't think I've read anything Evan Hunter has written.

That is, under his own name. I've read a ton of books he's written under his better-known pseudonym, Ed McBain. McBain is best-known for his 87th Precint novels, police procedurals written from 1956's Cop Hater to last year's Hark!. I've read quite a few of these books, and enjoy the hell out of them. Besides being one of my favorite things in and of themselves, I can't imagine two of my other favortie things -- no, make that three -- would have ever come into existance without them. The TV show Homicide: Life on the Street owes a big debt to McBain -- even though it's based on a real homicide unit, and many times, on real cases. McBain changed the way we looked at cops, from heroes to civil servants, caught up in drudgery and paperwork and bad days and all the other hings real life brings with it. Yet McBain's civil servants find it within themselves to be heroes, putting their lives on the line for the innocent and the guilty alike. On top of this change in attitude, he rally crafted the way these stories are told.

Two great comics owe a big debt to McBain (and to Homicide, as well): Gotham Central, a police procedural in which everyday cops have to deal with Mr. Freeze and a guy who dresses like a bat and scares the crap outta crooks, and Top 10, Alan Moore, Gene Ha and Zander Cannon's comic about a police force in a city where everyone has superpowers. Both have McBain's attitude in their blood.

I got a chance a few years ago to tell Mr. Hunter how much I loved his work, when I interviewed him for the newspaper I was working for. We talked a bit about the 87th Precint, and then a bit about mysteries in general. I had just picked up on a trait that rus through many of his books: murder mysteries are all about the victim. He or she may not say a word, but they're the star of the book, as detectives dig deeper and deeper into who they were and why they were killed. It was good to be talking craft with someone who was so clearly a master of it.

I did see one thing Hunter wrote under his own name: Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. He also wrote the book The Blackboard Jungle, and tons of other things. You can find out about them here.

Me, I'm gonna look over that list for one of the many books of his I haven't read yet. I've got a lot to choose from, but I'm confident I'll pick a winner.

Rob

Wow, that didn't take long.

Seems like, as ever, Rehnquist's all about dashing my hopes.

Rob

Quick Updates

The beach was a lot of fun. I got to see my nephews and my niece, and I even read a comic book to one of 'em. I am now in the not-so-mild Itchy stage of my somewhat mild sunburn.

I read a Kinky Freidman novel, Frequent Flier, on the beach. The cat spins an entertaining yarn.

I haven't had much to say politically lately, but I have to say I'm enjoying watching Karl Rove get served a shit sandwich. I hope he's forced to eat it -- and order some for all his friends. But not his friends' friends, because apparently the President is friends with Kinky Friendman. He calls him up whenever he hears a good dirty joke.

We're closing the magazine this week, so I've been busier than usual. And the lawn is growin' growin' growin'. Sunday, there will come a lawnmower reckoning.

I started playing the Freedom Force video game. I'm not sure whether it's been cutting into my blogging time or my surfing time. Probably a little of both.

I hope Rehnquist retires soon. It's a given that Bush will try send one ultraconservative to the Supreme Court. But it'll be more difficult to send two up at the same time than it would be to get one approved, then another 6 months or a year later.

Jesus wants me to have fresh breath. Jim the Bastard explains.

Rob

Always a Catch

I'm just about to head to the beach, but I wanted to blog for a moment about one of my favorite books: Joseph Heller's Catch-22. I rarely reread books. There's too much new stuff out there, and new-to-me stuff out there, forme to travel backward more than once in a while.

But I hadn't read Catch-22 since the summer before my senior year of high school, when the book was only 20 years old. Now it's almost 40. And it's every bit as good now as it was then, and more and more relevant.

Catch-22 focuses on an air force squadron stationed on Painosa, an island of the coast of Italy, during World War II. The lead character, Yossarian, is a bombardier who may be the one sane man in the world. As the colonels and generals keep on upping the number of missions required (it starts out at 30 -- by the end of the book it's up to 80), Yossarrian comes to believe that it's not just the enemy who's trying to kill him -- his own superiors are, too.

I don't want to talk too much about the book, or give away any of the absurd logical loop-de-loops Heller provides, but I do want to quote from one passage toward the end. Becauseeven with the Bushies up-is-downism, none of us have enough irony in our diet.

Morale was deteriorating and it was all Yossarian's fault. The country was in peril; he was jeopardizing his traditional rights of freedom and independence by daring to exercise them.

We all need exercise; even our rights. Remember to take yours for a spin regularly.

Rob

La La La I'm not listening!

There's plenty of time for me to worry about who's on deck for the Supreme Court. But it's a beautiful Friday, and I'm not gonna do it. For now, I'm gonna sit back and draw.

Watch me draw this old friend.

Then give it a try y'self.

Rob

New Diet Plan

I've decided to become a ninjatarian. From now on, I shall eat only ninjas.

Problem is, they're so hard to find...

Rob

Proud Godpapa

I'm a proud godfather of my nephew Brian. I saw him with his brothers and mom (and lots of other fam) tonight, and he was standing in the middle of us, commanding our attention, saying "Cobbin Tibe! It's Cobbin Tibe!" His mom didn't know what he meant, until I figured it out: "It's clobberin' time!" the Thing's catchphrase. He probably picked it up from Fantastic Four previews.

This kid is so cool.

Rob

Nice Goin', eh?

Congratulations to our Canadian brothers and brothers and sisters and sisters. Lead the way, folks.

Rob

Paul Winchell, R.I.P.

I have to confess, I'm not familiar with the bulk of Mr. Winchell's work. Mostly I know him from his voice acting, from Tigger to Gargamel to many, many others. But he was entertaining people long before the Pooh movies and the Smurfs. Oh yeah ... and he also invented the artificial heart.

No kidding.

If you'd like to read an obituary for this amazing man, start here at Mark Evanier's site. Then go here and here for more.

Rob

I’ve been remiss…

I’ve been meaning to add these two links to my weblog for months now. The first is Nicole Maynard’s homepage. Nicole is a phenomenal artist and a good friend. Take a look at her online portfolio. The jpegs can’t compare with the power of her works face-to-face in a gallery or a home. Some things are too much for a monitor to convey.

On the other hand, monitors are the perfect medium for seeing Chris Ready’s work – considering he designs web pages. Chris is one of the greatest guys in the world—friendly and straightforward, he’s one of the few people who can combine earnestness with the ability to make me laugh until milk comes out my nose. (Even if I’m drinking birch beer – does that count as a miracle?) In all seriousness, you can take a look at his portfolio and judge his design talent for yourself. But take my word: you’ll be happy you did business with him.

So here they are: more of my friends. That’s where you’ll find them, in the list-o-links to your right.

Rob

Rooby Roo Runts Rains!!

Unbefreakinlievable.

Rob

A D-minus still passes, right?

I heard on the radio this morning that Rumsfeld said the insurgency could be going on for “five, six, eight, ten, twelve years.” Yet Veep Dick says the insurgency is in its “last throes.” Those must be long throes.

Rummy also changed the military’s mission over there. We’re no longer trying to stop the insurgents, you see. “We're going to create an environment that the Iraqi people and the Iraqi security forces can win.”

That creaking sound is the bar being lowered yet again.

Rob

P.S.: A quote from Rummy's Greatest Hits, pre-war edition: "I can't say if the use of force would last five days or five weeks or five months, but it certainly isn't going to last any longer than that." Certainly not, like, twelve years.

Hear, hear

The Bull Moose directs our attention to something that mustn't be forgotten.

Rob

Lying Low

I haven’t had much to say in the past few days. Or rather, I have had things to say, but I haven’t been quite sure how to phrase them. One of the things the Patriot Act has done is get me to question the limits of my freedom of speech. Sure, I can say whatever I want. But how much can I say before they start a file on me? I don’t trust this administration, I don’t like this administration, and every day I wish it were 2008. I don’t know if what we get then will be better, and I won’t kid myself that it couldn’t be worse. The government has taken a big step toward intrusiveness and schoolmarmism, and a big step away from reality and science. But there are more steps along that road; W is a herald of things to come, the Silver Surfer to the Religious Right’s Galactus.

What’s really made my blood boil these past few days is the statements made by Karl Rove in New York a couple days ago. Here are the relevant quotes (from the NY Times):

"Conservatives saw the savagery of 9/11 in the attacks and prepared for war; liberals saw the savagery of the 9/11 attacks and wanted to prepare indictments and offer therapy and understanding for our attackers," Mr. Rove, the senior political adviser to President Bush, said at a fund-raiser in Midtown for the Conservative Party of New York State.

...

"Has there ever been a more revealing moment this year?" Mr. Rove asked. "Let me just put this in fairly simple terms: Al Jazeera now broadcasts the words of Senator Durbin to the Mideast, certainly putting our troops in greater danger. No more needs to be said about the motives of liberals."

Essentially, he’s not just saying Durbin’s words put American troops in harm’s way – he’s saying that that was the liberal plan all along. That Durbin’s a traitor. That I’m a traitor.

Now I know, I know, I know he’s trying to bait us. And I vacillate between thinking the best thing to do is fight back with all the venom and fury we can muster, or to calmly say that he’s wrong and demand an apology. I feel like giving in to anger is simply acting according to his plan, but to not strike back with rhetoric of equal weight and bile would be to show weakness – also, what he wants. It’s like forking your opponent in chess – whatever way they react, they lose a piece.

I have to admit, he makes me furious. Being called a traitor isn’t something I take lightly, whether its from hacks like Anne Coulter or bullshit merchants like Karl Rove.

Of course, we know who’s truly undermining the troops, sending them into a manufactured war without adequate body armor, freezing the budget of the Department of Veteran’s Affairs and the like.

We know who’s working to collapse our economy, lining the pockets of his bosses with fat oil cash while we wring out the world like a sponge.

We know who’s working to cut the government’s income until it can’t continue to support essential services.

We know who’s doing his best to cut through the ropes holding up the social safety net. Gutting Social Security in favor of risky pyramid schemes they figure they can come out on top of when it all comes tumbling down.

We know who’s doing this. And they call us traitors?

Rob

The Shame of MAD

Read all about it.

Rob

Blue!

The family room is its various shades of blue, and the trim is white, and we're exhausted. I'll try to post some before and after pics once we get the dropcloths up and the furniture back in place -- I'll be particularly glad to have the sofas out of the kitchen -- they make it hard to open the dishwasher.

Rob

Second Coat

Looks like it's necessary and inevitable. I am filled with dread.

Rob

No!

Sleep!

Til Blue!

It's 12:30, and three out of four walls are blue. We've just got the fourth, in a slightly darker shade, to do. It's mostly small work, so it won't really be worth taking out a roller (or more to the point, cleaning a roller for 2 or three swipes of it). Either way, we're in it for the long haul, so we can just worry about painting trim tomorrow.

It looks pretty good so far. And no pink!

Rob

Optimus Prime!

Priming is done. Resting can begin. Until it begins anew...

Rob

Primed!

Well, half-primed. We got all the edges done, so tomorrow night is just painting the walls and celining with a roller. Then we get to see color come back into the picture. But I can't begin to tell you how gratifying it is to see all the pink on the walls on its way out.

We moved the stereo into the dining room so we could listen while we painted without having to fumble with dropcloths to change CDs. Kathy picked the first one at random: Leonard Coen's Greatest Hits. To put it mildly -- not good painting music. I thought I might kill myself before the project was over. (And I had bought the freakin' album in the first place! His later album, The Future, kicke so much ass that I figured his greatest hits would be, you know, great. Shows what I know.) But once we got through the CD, we heard some Cake and some Ben Folds Five before I popped in the final-stretch CD of the night: The Raiders of the Lost Ark soundtrack.

Rob

House of Secrets

Every now and then, we find something in our house that the previous owners left behind. Most of the oddball items we found in our first week or so: a build-your-own-pistol kit, a swordfish nose, that sort of thing. But last night, while prepping to paint the family room, I found something else that I can’t explain. (Or can’t explain accurately, I suppose.) Tucked behind the mirror over the bar, there was a 2003 restaurant review from the Star-Ledger. It wasn’t the whole page – just the review, cut out (although it was a full-page review, the edges were trimmed). This leads me to believe the paper wasn’t there for some inexplicable way to help the mirror installation, but because someone was saving it – and not just saving it, but hiding it. As for the why, who knows? But an explanation will certainly show up in some story or other.

Rob

Batman Begins

From what I hear, there's no Egghead OR King Tut??!! I swear, I don't know what these people are thinking.

I guess I'll find out Saturday. But if there's no Batusi, there'll be hell to pay.

Rob

Fight Songs

Thanks for the optomism, encouragement, and fighting spirit, folks. I'm feeling better, and will be getting back into it soon. In the meantime, I've got a family room to paint, so we'll see what I'm able to post between now and when the room is at last no longer pink.

In the meantime: hum along, even if you don't know the tune.

Rob

This Just In

People magazine reported that Penn Jillette has named his newborn daughter Moxie Crimefighter Jillette. Beats the fuck out of Apple, wouldn't you say?

Rob

Downing Street

I haven’t written anything about the Downing Street Memo yet – mostly because I haven’t really had anything to add. It seems to me as pretty clear (albeit circumstancial) evidence that Bush and Blair planned to go to war when they told us that they were working to avoid it. Yeah, I’m outraged. But I’ve been outraged about this long before the DSM was made public – so what am I supposed to do now, turn my anger up to 11? Well, Abu Ghraib did that. To 12? 13? How high does this thing go?

Andrew makes a good point about Bush – nothing seems to stick to him. And I think I’m a little worn out by it all. I know, in my heart, if we chip away at this guy, something’s got to give. But man, I’m tired of it. I just read something new about a law passed to cut funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and I just as there in my chair at work for a moment, doing nothing, feeling a sour sting in my throat. Our priorities are out of whack. And there are times I feel there’s nothing I can do about it.

This is one of those times.

I’m sure it’ll pass, and I’ll be back to kicking up shit and spitting acid in a few day’s time. But there are times when I just want to close my eyes until 2006, and then 2008, and if a change doesn’t come then, then get the fucking rapture over with and send me to hell already, will you? At least then I’d know where I stand.

Rob

If there's a smile on my face

...it's only because the women of New York City have gotten the memo: It's warm outside.

Rob

Big Weekend

Lotsa fun this weekend. On Friday night, Kathy and I saw Crash. There's no better moviegoing advice I can give you right now than to see it too. It's excellent.

Saturday, we went to the Appel Farm Arts and Music Festival. We caught lots of music, including Bet Williams (who has a new album out), Phil Roy, the phenomenal Mavis Staples, Aimee Mann, Loudon Wainwright III and his son Rufus Wainwright. A great day, under deceptively overcast skies. Later that night, sunburnt stoplight-red, we watched the bizarre Dudley Moore/Peter Cook movie, The Hound of the Baskervilles, with Greg. The movie is downright insane, but the little dog with the big bladder is right where we left him. I can't really comment any more than that -- sunburn fatigue took me out for large patches of the movie.

The next day, I hit Wizardworld East in Philly, a sizeable comic convention. I got to meet Carmine Infantino. He's one of the creators of my favorite superhero, the Barry Allen Flash, and the uncle of Jim Infantino, who fronts the so-cool-it-burns-when-I-listen band Jim's Big Ego. Big thank yous went to Carmine.

I also got a cool little sketch from Walt Simonson, and met Kenny Baker (who played R2D2). Both good guys -- and if you ever get the chance to be taught by Walt Simonson, do it -- I caught the last fifteen minutes of his comics art seminar, and it was riiting -- even to someone who doesn't pick up a pencil unless it's to correct somebody's grammar.

I bought a TON of graphic novels though -- almost all independant, at ridiculous prices. A wonderful shopping experience, to be sure -- but seeing so many remaindered books makes me acutely aware of what a precarious business I want to be in. At any rate, I'll have some short reviews of the books I bought as I read them... starting with Scott Morse's The Barefoot Serpent and an Italian noir tale called The Iguana.

The best part of the day was seeing friends, though - Mike Bencik, his sainted lady Jessica, and Scott Neely, as well as making new ones. Dinner with even an exhausted Raven Gregory (writer and creator of The Gift from Image) was a blast -- and that was some of the best tequila I ever drank, and hands DOWN those were the best friggin' cheese stick ever consumed.

Got home near midnight on Sunday, wiped out but too wired to sleep. But I've caught some zees now and then since.

Rob

Election Results

Well, here in Edison, I've just discovered our mayor George Spadoro is a lame duck; he'll be replaced by Jun Choi as the Democratic condidate on November's ballot. The anti-Wal-Mart democrats have spoken. Congratulations, Mr. Choi.

And, surprising no one, Jon Corzine has won the Democratic primary for governor. In other news, the earth revolves around the sun. (Somebody tell the Republicans.)

Rob

T-t-t-Time Warp!

For the next series of posts, you might want to start here and scroll up.

Rob

The Exception

When are words as dangerous as actions?

When words are actions.

The book I have in mind is called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and it’s conspicuous by its absence on the Human Events list. While all of the books on their list were written by their listed authors, the Protocols were published in Russia in 1905 as a way to sway Tsar Nicholas II that there was a Jewish plot against him, and of world domination in general. It was bunk, of course. It was written by a forger named Mathieu Golovinski, cribbed from a political tract written by Maurice Joly in France in 1864. (His book, The Dialogue in Hell between Machiavelli and Montesquieu, had nothing to do with Jews, but was instead a thinly veiled attack on Napoleon III.) Golovinski changed some phrasing around, and submitted it as a recovered document from a secret meeting of Jewish elders in 1897.

Since then, it’s been at the foundation of antisemitic thought. It was discredited in 1920 – proved conclusively to be a forgery – but that hasn’t stopped its publication and dissemination around the world.

I got this information from Will Eisner’s excellent (and sadly, final) graphic novel, The Plot: The Secret Story of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. He put the tale of this forgery into comic-book form in order to spread the word about this lie that’s at the heart of so many acts of violence even today. It’s working: Up until I heard about Eisner’s book, I’d never heard about the Protocols. Maybe you hadn’t either.

I believe in free speech, and question anyone who says this or that book is dangerous or “harmful.” But the Protocols isn’t a book at all. It’s a frame.

Rob

One Caveat Before the Exception

Okay, the folks at Human Events called the books "harmful" instead of "dangerous." And I suppose a case could be made that the books can be judged harmful by the way they were used in history, rather than by the danger they inherently possess. So if you want to make that case, by all means, go ahead -- I'm receptive to it. But for now, I've got to write about the exception.

Onward!

Rob
(and yes, I realize you're probably reading this backward. Damn you, laws of time and space!)

The World’s Most Dangerous…Books?

It sounds like some reality library-chase show on Fox. But it’s more like another piece of excremental propaganda squeezed out by Fox News: The crackpots at Human Events have cobbled together a list of the “Ten Most Harmful Books of the 19th and 20th Centuries.”

And some of the usual suspects are there. Main Kampf. The Communist Manifesto. The Feminine Mystique.

The Feminine Mystique?

Also on the list are The Kinsey Report and John Maynard Keynes’s General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, the book FDR based much of the New Deal on.

Can these guys hold a grudge or what?

Essentially, they’re equating Feminism and the New Deal with Marxism and Naziism.

The runners-up are even more revealing. Origin of Species. Silent Spring. Unsafe at Any Speed. Jeez, it’s pretty clear who signs their paycheck, isn’t it? Evolution: bad. Environmentalism: bad. Consumer activism: bad. It makes me wonder why they limited themselves to the past couple centuries. Relax the rules a bit, and head straight to Gutenberg. Life was so much simpler for the rich before the serf class knew how to read.

And the thing is, not one of these is a truly dangerous book. Yeah, Mein Kampf was written by a bad guy, and has some truly repellent ideas in it, I’m sure. (I’ve never read it, but I think it’s safe to assume.) But the fact is, like any political tract, it’s pretty much one guy’s opinion. The people who acted on these ideas – including the author – are dangerous, certainly. (Judging by the point score, they were almost twice as dangerous as FDR!) But it’s actions, not words, that are dangerous.

With one exception.

(Next: The Exception!)

Rob

Roger Ebert cracks me up

A good example of his dry wit can be found in this exchange in his most recent "Answer Man" column:

Q. There is a pants/no-pants continuity error in Padme's maternity getup when she arrives on the lava planet. How do such errors creep into movies made with such budgets and so many eyes checking and approving things? Mark S., Springfield, Ill.
A. I cannot recall this detail, but as you describe it, it certainly sounds like the kind of detail that should be noticed.

Made me smile, he did.

Rob

Lost: Found

Kathy & I saw it last night. So thanks, everyone, but you can erase your tapes and clear your TiVos now, if you were holding things for us.

And what's down that friggin' tunnel?

UPDATE: Here's a link to a list of all the times Hurley's numbers have shown up in the episodes so far. It's a big list.

Rob

Bring on the Bulldozers

Tom Friedman writes about the prisons at Guantanamo Bay in todays Times. It's called "Just Shut it Down." Read the whole thing (before it goes behind the pay wall in a week), but here's the key graph:

Guantánamo Bay is becoming the anti-Statue of Liberty. If we have a case to be made against any of the 500 or so inmates still in Guantánamo, then it is high time we put them on trial, convict as many possible (which will not be easy because of bungled interrogations) and then simply let the rest go home or to a third country. Sure, a few may come back to haunt us. But at least they won't be able to take advantage of Guantánamo as an engine of recruitment to enlist thousands more. I would rather have a few more bad guys roaming the world than a whole new generation.

He's right. This place should go. We should make the cases against the people we can, and free the rest, sending them to other countries if we truly believe they're dangerous (but we can't hold them) and letteing them resume their lives if they're some of the folks erroneously picked up in the hamhanded enfocement of the PATRIOT Act. Review the cases, decide who goes where, and bring on the Bob the Builder.

And don't do it gradually, or secretly. Acknowledge that the place has become the symbol of a behavior we're ashamed of, and we won't be doing it anymore. Then take the wrecking balls and the bulldozers and raze the place, for all the world to see.

Becuase people don't riot because of Newsweek.

Rob

Freaking the Fuck Out

The goddam TiVo didn't record Lost because the season finale was named "Exodus," just like last week's cliffhanger.

Fuckity fuck fuck fucky fucky fuck.

Rob

Island Life

So, tonight’s the last episode of Lost. This has been one of my favorite shows this year, and for fun I thought I’d wonder aloud at some of the mysteries that we may or may not see wrapped up tonight.

The Black Rock: It’s obviously a very old ship. The question is, did the French lady (I’m blanking on her name) sail over on it? How old is she? Is there time displacement involved?

The Raft: The previews show them encountering something in the water. Will it push them back to the island? Is it some sort of security system to keep them from escaping?

The Others: How did DeLenn (yep, I’m still blanking) know the Others were coming (since the black smoke hadn’t started yet). What do they want with Claire’s baby? What’s their relation to Ethan Rom.

The Hatch: What’s in there, anyway? I certainly don’t think it’s a safe lace to hide – and psychic Walt seems to think so too. When he heard they’d be opening the hatch, he suddenly seemed a lot more gung-ho to take his chances on the Raft.

The Numbers: Hurley’s lottery numbers appear everywhere. Who sent the signal out that eventually led them to the Hurl-man? Why? This is one mystery I think has a chance of being answered this episode. When that hatch opens tonight, we’ll learn a lot.

And I honestly can’t wait.

Rob

The Compromise

After all I had to say about the filibuster, I find I don’t have much to say on the compromise that saved it. On the one hand, Democrats seem to be happier about it than Republicans. On the other, though, the Republicans are getting a few odious judges through, and the Democrats are getting a promise. It’s all very precarious, and hinges on what the various compromisers consider “extreme situations.” But, at the very least, it’s a small cease-fire in the Senate war, And it took some brave senators on both sides of the aisle to make it happen.

So to the 14 senators who risked a lot to get this compromise through: Thanks. In the words of Strong Bad: “You just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

Rob

Snowflakes

I don't imagine this will be a very popular post. But when a bull like me sees a new china shop, the result is inevitable, but not always pretty.

President Bush held a PR event with almost two dozen little kids today to show his opposition to stem cell research. These weren’t just any kids: They were “snowflake babies,” children born from frozen. But not to their genetic parents, or one genetic parent; these kids were adopted as embryos.

The timeline, as I understand it, goes like this. Couple A goes for in vitro fertilization, and it’s successful. They have their baby and live happily ever after. However, there are a number of frozen embryos left at the clinic. Once Couple A decides they’re through having kids, they have to decide what to do with the unused embryos. One choice is to put the frozen embryos up for adoption. Somewhere down the line, Couple B comes to the embryo adoption center. Somehow (and I happily note, with a consultation with Couple A), Couple B is able to adopt Couple A’s unused embryo, implanting it in Wife B, who becomes pregnant and carries the new baby to term.

And the result? Two happy families – two moms and dads who obviously wanted very much to have their babies.

Nothing wrong with that.

But taking a wider view – isn’t there the possibility to make Couple B happy without bringing baby AB into the world? He’s not linked to them at all genetically, from what I can tell. Aren’t there plenty of kids out there – kids who exist now, rather than potential kids who could exist – who could use parents like Couple B?

I don’t begrudge any of these snowflake babies their lives, certainly. You spend 9 months getting fed through a tube inside someone, you deserve to step out and get some fresh air for eighty years or so. But I can’t help think that there’s a more charitable choice that could have been made by Couple B. Beyond increasing their own joy, they could have helped to lessen someone else’s loneliness.

Look, my cards are on the table – most people who know me know that we’re opting out of the kid thing. So there’re probably plenty of these urges that I just plain don’t get. That’s one reason why I tried to write this in a more restrained manner than my usual napalm prose. But if to have a baby of your own – with the help of a fertility clinic or not – is beyond you, why not lighten someone else’s load when the opportunity is clearly before you?

That’s what I don’t understand.

Rob

You were a good one, Mr. Ravenscroft

Grrrreat, as a matter of fact.

I just learned that Thurl Ravenscroft, who's best known to me (and probably you) as both the voice of Tony the Tiger and singer of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, has passed away at 91. Mark Evanier has details.

Rob

Per second per second

First, watch Mr. Robot. After you see this video of this astounding android, I'd never be able to prevent you from exploring the rest of Eugene Mirman's site. So I won't even try.

Rob

Then again...

It's not like the Nazi rhetoric is a one-time thing. Swing State Project led me to PA candidate Chuck Pannacchio's site, where he has a link to a 33-second video in which Senator Stain lumps the New York Times in with Nazis, Baathists, etc.

And this puzzles me, since via Blogenlust, we have this gem of a quote appearing in the March 3 Pittsburgh Tribune Review:

"Senator Byrd's inappropriate remarks comparing his Republican colleagues with Nazis are inexcusable," Santorum said in a statement yesterday. "These comments lessen the credibility of the senator and the decorum of the Senate. He should retract his statement and ask for pardon."

Of course, Sen. Stain's office issued a statement calling the Nazi rhetoric a "mistake." Which sounds like an apology, but isn't.

Someone should probably ask him what he's thinking, with all this flip-flopping? Are Nazis fair game in senatorial discourse, or aren't they?

You ask me, he should stick to animal husbandry.

Rob

Goat: Gotten

I've been discussing with Andrew the possibility that Santorum was intentionally baiting us with yesterday's Hitler rhetoric. Essentially, he's using that language as a lightning rod -- to draw criticsm to it, rather than to the substance (or lack thereof) of the argument behind the nuclear option.

Andrew makes a good point. And in my case, Rick Santorum is uniquely qualified to get my goat. See, when he was elected to office in 1994, mine was one of the votes that put him there. I bought the Republican line that Social Security wouldn't be there for me by the time I retired hook, line, and sinker. And Social Security was all his opponent, Harris Wofford, was talking about. I don't recall Wofford ever addressing any other issue, and I remember thinking, "What's in it for me?" And in the most selfish and short-sighted votes I've ever cast, I helped elect the cherubic, venomous Rick Santorum to the U.S. Senate.

Hey, it was 1994. I sure as hell wasn't the only one who made a big mistake that November.

Nonetheless, I feel responsible for him being there, even though I had the pleasure of voting against him in 2000. Every jackass thing the man says, I wince and think: My vote's behind that. I handed this moron a microphone.

More than anything else, that's what's behind any venom I direct at Rick Santorum. It's why I'll contribute money to whoever his Democrastic challenger is, and why I'll be in Pennsylvania on election day 2006, helping the Dems get the vote out. Until he's out of office, I feel tainted.

And no one wants their taint displayed for all the world to see -- especially when there's Santorum involved.

Rob

On further reflection...

I'm not certain that the clearly deranged individual who compared Democrats to Nazis on the Senate Floor (confused? click here or scroll down!) was actually the Senator Rick "Man on Dog" Santorum we've all come to know and loathe.

Why do I have doubts? Is it because comparing your political opponents to Hitler -- and not just any Hitler, but Adolph Fucking Hitler -- is a ludicous comparison that goosesteps all over the final precious shreds of decorum in the Senate? Nah. Santorum is just the sort of inelegant blowhole to do just that.

And it's certainly not because he's doing the bidding of the so-called "religious" so-called "right" in opposing judical filibusters so Bush can get his radical, right-wing, civil-rights-hatin' judges approved. Face it, Santorum is so deep into the James Dobson's back pocket that he can smell his ... well, santorum. So it ain't that.

No, it's this: In comparing the Democrats to Hitler, he compared his precious "nuclear option" -- eliminating the right of the minority party to filibuster judical nominees -- to Paris. And when was the last time you heard a Republican say something nice about France?

But if this indeed was Santorum, he might have just put the final nail in his Senate career. This seems to me a major political blunder, revealing him for the extremist he is. He'll roll right through the primaries, but come the general election...

...it'll be "man on dog" time. And he should expect to bark.

Rob

Holy Fucking Shit

Rick Santorum just compared Democrats to Hitler on the Senate floor.

I'm speechless. This man is horrible. He's just an embarassment to... well, to everything.

Jeff Dubner has more at Tapped. And you can see video of it at Crooks and Liars.

I'm going to go pick my jaw up off the floor.

Rob

UPDATE: I eventually put my thoughts in order. And then I had more thoughts. And some more links, here -- including a video of another case of Santorum using Nazi rhetoric.

If you have hair…

You can have MANGA HAIR!

Via Doc Beechler at the Comics Cave.

Rob

CPB Update

If you want to get in touch with the Corporation for Public Broadcasting to object to the pressure to limit NPR news (or to praise it, for that matter), , the CPB contact page is probably a good place to start. I plan to write them a letter tonight.

Thanks, Sharon, for reminding me ( in the comments) that it's not enough to complain about this to you guys.

Rob

Uncleville

Okay, so maybe Season 3 of Arrested Development isn’t that big a deal after all.

My sister-in-law Alison just gave birth to my newest niece, Emma Elaine this morning. Both mama and child are doing well.

And that’s the best news I’ll hear all week.

Rob

Flush with Links

Josh Marshall and Kevin Drum both make salient points about the current tempest in a toilet.

Rob

Taking us for a Ride

I love music, music of all kinds. Music I wish I heard more of on the radio.

Still, I'm an adaptable creature. There are wonderful internet webcasts and podcasts, there's iTunes, there are CDs and mp3s and all sorts of file sharing going on in the big bad world. If you want to hear music, you've got plenty of options.

Which is why I'm dismayed that there's a push going on to make NPR play more music.

Here's a passage from today's New York Times story, "A Battle Over Programming at National Public Radio."

About a quarter of [the Corporation for Public Broadcasting's] $400 million budget goes to radio, with most of the rest to television. NPR recently received a huge bequest from the estate of Joan B. Kroc, the widow of the founder of McDonald's, and it gets only about 1 percent of its overall funds directly from the corporation. But its member stations are far more reliant on the corporation's money, and they use a significant part of that to buy programs produced by NPR and others.

Last month, the corporation's board, which is dominated by Republicans named by President Bush, told the staff at a meeting that it should prepare to redirect the relatively modest number of grants available for radio programs away from national news, officials at the corporation and NPR said.

"We heard sentiments from the board that they are interested in support of more music," said Vincent Curran, a senior vice president in charge of the radio division. He said that the board had made no final decisions on funds.

Participants in that meeting said there was a brief discussion by board members in which one of them, Gay Hart Gaines, talked about the need to change programming in light of a conversation she had had with a taxi driver about his listening habits. Ms. Gaines, a Republican fund-raiser and the head of the political action committee of Newt Gingrich, the former House speaker, did not return a call to her office seeking comment.

I'm sorry, but taxi drivers have plenty of places to find music to jam along to as they find roundabout ways to take us around the corner.

We need news. Solid, in-depth reporting. Unslanted, but unflinchingly questioning those in power, whoever they might be. We need public radio news -- unbeholden to advertisers or ratings as much as possible, serving its listeners above all. NPR reaches people who don't read the paper, who don't find news on the internet.

Naturally, a Bush appointee like Kenneth Tomlinson (chairman of the CPB) wants to limit the news as much as possible -- particularly the news broadcasts that do their job in asking difficult questions of his boss, and letting people hear those answers. These people shun the truth like Pigpen shuns a bath. (Come to think of it, that might be why they're all so damn dirty, too.) We need NPR's news shows, and we need other news outlets to show some backbone, too.

The cabbies will just have to find something else to tap their toes to.

Rob

Can't Get Arrested? Sez Who?

This is probably the best news I’ll hear all week ... assuming my new niece is born next week, that is.

Rob

Been a Long Time

...but I'm back. Had a swell vacation, made even better for all the time spent with friends and family. I'll get to hard core blogging soon enough, but to be honest, I've got very little idea of what went on in the world this week. So here's a brief overview of what went on with me & Kathy.

Drove to my bother and sister-in-law's place. They're doing well, and I'm damn close to being an uncle again. Like in a week or two. We had some great chili, and saw Hitch at the Arlington Cinema Drafthouse, a combo bar and 2nd-run movie theater. It's an idea whose time has long since come, but for some reason isn't spreading like kudzu.

The next day, we drove to West Virginia. Had some mighty good peanut soup on the way. Set up camp just before dark, and ate dinner at a gourmet pizza shop called Pies and Pints in Fayetteville. The Cuban pork pizza was plenty tasty.

Went whitewater rafting on Monday and Tuesday with Class VI outfitters and our excellent guide Eric. Rafter the New River first, and the next day took smaller boats into the low-flow upper Gauley. Eric said that probably only about 5,000 people have rafted the upper Gauley at this level; it's most often rafted at peak flow in the fall. This was challenging water -- two of the three guides were tossed from their boats!

Wednesday, Kathy & I headed up to Maryland, stopping to hike to the top of Seneca Rock in WV. It was a good walk; we gained 1,000 feet of elevation in 1.5 miles, and were rewarded with a spectacular view.

We spent Wednesday night through Saturday with our friends Chris and Jeri, and it was great to see them for such an extended period. Time was, they were both part of my everyday life -- there was barely a day that went by when I didn't see them. Now, at least, we keep in touch more with blogging and commenting, but face-to-face is best. Particularly when Kathy cleans everyone's clock at poker (mine first). We took a driving tour of Gettysburg, had some terrific meals, and generally had a great time.

Saturday afternoon we were back up in Pennsylvania. Spent a little time with my Mom and my already-extant nephews, and then I headed out to a bachelor party while Kathy headed home. I can't say much about the party (bachelor's code and all), but at one point in the evening Kathy receieved a text message from me saying:

I heart u. Jay is the goddam Pope.

Which might give you some idea of how much fun we were having. Congrats Jay -- and remember to bring ice for the road.

Rob

Fristin' by the Pool

The Frist Filibusterers are in hour 257 right now, still going strong. More professors and local politicans have participated, and it's a wonder anyone is getting any studying done. But man, has the story broke wide!

Over 40 newspapers (including the New York Times, Washington Post, and the UK Guardian) have picked up the AP story on the filibuster. Also, there was a Times editorial on it on Friday. And it was mentioned on Crossfire yesterday too!

Keep it going, guys! Don't let them go nuclear in silence!

Rob

It's Free Comic Book Day!

Yeah, you heard me right. If you go into your local comic shop today (Saturday), chances are they'll have free comics for you.

This has been going on for several years now. It's usually tied in with one of the major comics book movie releases, but this year (as far as I know) it's not. I guess they're testing the waters to see if it can stand on its own. The one other constant of FCBD is that I will be out of town. I've never been to a Free Comic Book Day yet.

But that's okay. It's not for me; I'm already hooked. But this is a great event for kids and adults interested in getting some free reading.

Here's a list of all the free comics available. The Gold Sponsors (including the Simpsons, Donald Duck, Fantastic Four and Batman) will be in every stores; Silver Sponsored books (I've heard good things about Amelia Rules and Owly) are available in many of them. And here's a link to a bunch of preview pages of the free comics. Other publishers sponsor on the Bronze level, giving away previously published comics. There should really be something for everyone. And here's where you can find a participating store (one of 1900 nationwide) near you.

Rob

Shifting Gears

I'll be mostly offline for the next week; we're heading to West Virginia to go rafting and other relatively nearby places to see family and friends. So posting here will be sparse, if it appears at all.

Of course, the most dangerous thing we'll be doing is not the class-IV rapids, but getting there. Since we're taking Kathy's car, for the first time since high school (other than short trips the past few days) I'll be driving with a stick shift.

Roads, Marty? Where we're going, we don't need roads...

See you all soon.

Rob

Domo Arigato

Did any of you know about this? And not tell me? Say you didn't know!

(Thanks to Miss New Orleans for leading me to Wang Chi's House of Pancakes, which let me know what's going down in JUST FIVE DAYS. Cool blogs, both of them.)

FIVE DAYS til The Big Bang.

FIVE.

DAYS.

Rob

Housekeeping and Welcome!

If you know me, you know the two go hand-in-hand. If there's not some sort of visitor coming over, then everything but the dishes falls by the wayside.

Looking to the right, you'll see I've adjusted the blogroll. No really big changes yet, but I plan to add more links as we roll along. But, there a couple of notable changes to the Friends section (above and beyond the designation itself, that is). First, I've updated the link and changed the name to Jack Curtain's blog. What was once The Great Disconnect is now I Have Heard the Mermaids Singing; go for the politics and beer, stay for the general musing. One of my favorite writers to work with, back in the day.

And now, the welcome: the wise and funny PapaGoose has joined the ranks of bloggerdom! Hail, PG! The estimable Mr. Goose launched his blog, Cream of Consciousness, earlier this week, and I urge you all to have a look. Fly, my minions! Fly!

Rob

Shaken up this morning.

I walked out of the house on my way to work and found a dead robin on the deck. That’s gotta be a bad omen of some kind, and I hesitate to think about what it means for our upcoming vacation. I went back inside and put a plastic shopping bag over my hand, then picked up the bird and put it in the trash. It was cold and stiff, and hit the bottom of the can with a thud.

In my car, the radio turned on to the middle of a press conference. Something bad had happened – an explosion, I soon found out – and judging by the voices, it had happened in New York. I started driving to the train station, wondering if I’d make it into work.

Soon, the details became clear. A pair of makeshift grenades had exploded in a concrete planter outside the building that houses the British Consulate. The incident happened at 3:30 in the morning; no one was hurt and the damage was minimal. I had no idea of the scope of this when I first turned on the radio. Scary stuff.

Still, I did see a headline that made me smile—for a moment at least, until I realized it actually read “Coulter Heckler Arrested.” Can that be true? Is it really against the law to shoot fish in a barrel?

Rob

200 hours!

The Princeton Filibuster has made it to 200 hours. To put that in perspective, stop reading this now and come back on May 12th at 4 a.m.

...

Uh, wuzzat? You wanna -- did I say four in the mumblefug mornin'? You gotta be kiddin' me...

Okay, welcome back. Did you do anything fun in those 200 hours? Did you, say, watch all four seasons of 24 twice? Including the five eps yet to air, and filling up the time formerly allotted to commercials with DVD extras? Or you could have tried to stop a government that represents the views of 52% of the population from running roughshod over the rights of the other 48%. That's what the Princetonians are doing, and they've been doing it loud and proud since April 26th.

By the way, here's a link to the Hardball appearance way back when on Tuesday, May 2nd. College Republicans joined in to grab some of the limelight, and while they also deserve to be heard, I wish they hadn't drowned out filibuster organizer Asheesh Siddique when he tried to answer Chris Matthews' questions.

Karen, a blogger at Princeton Progressive Review, wrote about the experience. I particularly liked this paragraph:

The Republican counter-protesters (i.e. media-grubbing partisans) attempted to use the chant "U-S-A!" And what did the rest of the crowd do? We joined in. You should have seen how confused they looked. You could hear them thinking "wait a minute! WE'RE the patriots here!" Unfortunately not, guys. You can't lay exclusive claim to that designation. What we're doing here might just be the most patriotic thing it's possible to do at this place and time. And we're going to KEEP ON DOING IT.

Sing it, Karen.

Rob

Bustin' Out

The fine folks at CampusProgress.org have assembled a heap o' tips for organizing your own campus filibuster. Assuming you have a campus, that is. At the very least, you have a hippocampus, which is probably useful.

Rob

Fins to the left, fins to the right

Well 24 has always been a paranoid, right-wing fantasy, but the episode I just watched (I’m a week – no, two weeks – behind) took it to another level. It’s easy to believe this show is on Fox; the only surprise is it’s not being produced by its “news” division.

All through the season, Jack and company have been torturing people willy-nilly. There’s not a skilled interrogator anywhere near the halls of CTU – apparently they all work in Baltimore and New York. All they have in LA is Barney Fife and a tire iron. Everyone in CTU jumps right to torturing people, disregarding the facts that a) most info given up during torture is bullshit, just frightened, hurt people telling their tormentors what they think they want to hear; and b) the torture pretty much invalidates any future legal case against almost anyone involved (except the torturers themselves), but that’s probably okay, since CTU rarely leaves anyone alive, unless they slip through their buttered fingers altogether.

But now, they’ve got someone in custody who knows crucial information, and the plot has given them every possible justification for torturing the SOB – up to and including “he killed my muddah” (thank you, Edgar). But they throw two monkeywrenches into the works: a lawyer for Amnesty Internat—I’m sorry, Amnesty Global, don’t wanna get sued, after all—and a cowardly new President, both of whom oppose CTU’s handling of the new suspect with anything but the cuddliest of kid gloves. The point seems clear: anyone who opposes torture is either cowardly or a sleazeball. Forget Abu Ghraib, forget Guantanamo, forget shipping folks on the no-fly list out to “friendly” Arab nations who supply their own pliers and electrodes. Anyone who brings them up is a troublemaker who probably just wants to sell more books.

And then, the most preposterous solution imaginable. In order to circumvent the regs, Jack Bauer resigns, then tortures the guy in CTU’s parking lot after he’s released. This is perfectly in character for Jack, who has always been willing to take personal responsibility for any moral gray areas in order to get the job done. But the idea that this little paperwork shuffle is going to fool anyone, or even provide an adequate fig leaf for higher-ups to hide behind is laughable (although it’d probably be good enough for Fox reporters, come to think of it). And to tell you the truth, I’m not even particularly clear what job Jack is resigning from. He was working with the DOD in the beginning of the season, but was somehow fuzzily “reinstated” with CTU, whatever that means. Maybe he wrote two letters? If you’re the ever-on-the-go Jack Bauer, where do you find the time?

I have to admire the balls behind the idea that “We’re CTU. We have cameras everywhere, and can tap into those we don’t directly control. But if one of our ex-agents tortures one of our ex-prisoners five minutes after his release in our own parking lot, we’re Sergeant Schultz. We know nothink. We see nothink.”

See that fin behind you, Jack? Congratulations on the jump.

Rob

You miss a day, You miss a lot

Luckily, the folks doing thefilibuster in Princeton haven’t missed a minute. They’re still going strong,closing in on 168 continuous hours.

Here’s what’s coming up for them, speakers and press-wise.

Aspreviously mentioned PA Senate Candidate Chuck Pennachio will speak todayat 3 o’clock. His opening act is Senator Jon Corzine's Deputy Press Secretary,who will read the senator’s statement at 2. At 4 o’clock, some of the filibusterorganizers will be interviewed for Hardball with Chris Matthews, which willbe broadcast later today. And tonight for 6 to 9 p.m. the “Filibuster Players”will be performing an impromptu version of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Therest of the week is beginning to take shape as well. Tomorrow morning at11:30 Princeton English prof Jeff Nunokawa will speak, and on Friday, PrincetonTownship’s Municipal Chair Dan Preston will make an 11:30 appearance.

Keep speaking, folks. You are being heard.

Rob

133.5

That's how many hours the Princeton Filibuster has been going on for -- and it's scheduled to go on til at least Tuesday, apparently. At 3 in the afternoon, Chuck Pennacchio, a candidate for Rick Santorum's PA Senate seat will be taking the bullhorn. Go, Chuck! Go, Tigers!

(Y'all are gonna need one helluva lozenge when you're through, but it's worth it!)

Oh... and the Filibuster made the Washington Post!

Rob