Rearranging lawn chairs for the apocalypse

(The only pic of a lawn/deck/porch chair.)

Or something like that. Listening to Brian Lehrer's fill-in today, and was struck by just how ridiculous budgetary/austerity/taxes (no, I mean, revenue)/default discussion has become. Actually, they were talking about the potential effects of the recent EPA-empowerment by the Supreme Court. (Yes, that SCOTUS, the conservative one; still, Kennedy, the swing vote, seems to "go both ways" almost equally, and here's an example of his liberal-lean.)

(Detroit)

Offering up the conservative viewpoint, as WNYC/NPR hosts are wont to do in the name of balance, but also to be batted down by the usual left-leaning guest, Andrea Bernstein conflated two common refrains from the right (talk about taxes/regulation "hurting job creators" and "killing jobs") into one delicious, if not menacing, concern: government intervention is "killing job creators."

(That's what happened at Coney Island, right? Nah...)

Now, I'm pretty sure she didn't actually mean to say conservatives think the government will start executing small business owners (funny how the right usually only mentions them...) or CEO behemoths (no, that's only Obamacare and senior citizens... but they're not "producers," so who cares?). But she can be forgiven given the ferocity of conservative objections to any austerity decisions based on reasonable economics (spending cuts AND tax--uh, I mean, revenue--increases) that make it seem like anything but cutting the size and scope of the government will destroy the economy--or at least the part of it who are still doing extremely well.

(Chernobyl apparently didn't have enough regulation...)

Perhaps this was too cynical (and/or petty) a thing to bring me out of my blogging-hibernation, but these days, on the brink of--again, already?--Armageddon or at least the end of America as we know it, we could all use a good laugh.

(Creepy abandoned island)

Capital punishment proponents and opponents agree: Isn't it ironic?

Don't you think? So says NPR, anyway.

Ohio is about to execute a man who, last week, was brought to a hospital to be revived after attempting suicide. Why bother? you ask. Good question.

Ethics aside, lawmakers in some states are reconsidering the efficiency of the death penalty. It costs less to try and convict someone of murder who might get a life sentence, rather than going for capital punishment.

(I realize this pic alludes to the electric chair, which as far as I know isn't used anymore, though still legal in some states if the prisoner chooses it--yeah right, like that will happen--but I had no gurney photos.)

A week late, but who's counting?

July 4th 2009. Louis Armstrong on the radio. It’s his birthday too.

Reading The Great Gatsby, again. Jonathan Franzen on NPR says he revisits the book every year or two. I’ve always leaned toward This Side of Paradise, though Gatsby is possibly, as the people on the radio had been proposing, the American Novel. More true lately, with the rise and fall of big things. The stock market, gangsters, bond-traders, “self-made” people, indulgence, arrogance, and tragedy shared, or not.

A good story tendrilled to today, Gatsby props up American myths to stand or fall against the winds of human frailty and liability. The land of opportunity; to do what? Somewhere to re-invent yourself, start over. That’s kind of what Agniezska, my friend, recently-citizened, whose validity I gladly vouched for to the proper authorities, said. Besides the, perhaps, more common conflation of “opportunity” and money-making, she says, to leave all you’ve known and what’s been expected of you can too be a compelling a reason to come to America.

I’ve decided to stay put today. I’m staying on the block. Not as much action as I would expect, but it’s still early. 1:52 pm.

A Louis classic is playing, a slower romantic one. He’s singing something about giving him your lips. “A Kiss to Build a Dream On,” that’s the Armstrong title.

On the corner of Gates and Marcy, the next cross street up from here at Monroe, stands the Louis Armstrong Public Houses. I wonder if anyone over there is listening to this sweet, indulgent daylong-plus retrospective of the erstwhile jazzman. It’s one of the least attractive, though they’re still common, places I’ve seen in Bed-Stuy; at least that’s within spitting distance of my place and sometimes crossed in normal route.

Firecrackers and some small fireworks have been going off for days. Today there are more, gladly. Just a bit rebellion, and not just for the metaphor of artillery, fireworks that fit well with the underlying ethos of the day: don’t tell us what to do. A silly law easily broken, a way to, more than just let off work-a-day-steam by indulging in ritual, convenient and relatively safe. We need this. For America, born of rebellious teenage-logic—like, the battle of attrition—law breaking for the sake of it, anti-authoritarianism just because, is part of its creation myth.

Triangulated by a milk-mouthed jazz radio voice, car stereos throbbing whoomps, and the tinny jangle of tiny speakers in windows turned street-ward, I woke up from a nap. Then a new theme is introduced: the ice cream man’s Scottish-jig-something-or-other-ditty playing on and on, and forever; just beneath, an aftertaste of subtle but substantial lawnmower-roar of the truck’s refrigeration.

Black Power-fists exchanged for Barack Obama portraiture on t-shirts, the now iconic image made by a white man of a man half-white. Beneath the shirt still angry, but anger more stilled, more patient and, perhaps, more optimistic; perhaps there’s more reason to be.

Fountains of silver and orange fill front steps of brownstones, whistle-crack. Night has come. Whistle-boom. The sun has gone. Whistle-crackle-fizzle. Darkness only broken up occasionally by—crash, like metal doors thrown off rooftops onto sidewalks below.

Thunder? Or the low rumble of far dark sky disturbed. Pop, pop: go the smaller firecrackers kids get to set off.

Momentary anarchy. Insurgent ritual. Rebellion distilled.


Yes, that's an Hassidic cop.

Finally made it to the airwaves!

Was listening to NPR (yeah, don't all roll your eyes at once), Sound Check with John Schaefer as he was interviewing Iain Ellis about his new book, "Rebels Wit Attitude: Subversive Rock Humorists," about the history of humor in rock. Not the most obvious topic, but he made a good case. As usual, they asked for online comments. So I wrote:

[3] dan from bed-stuy January 22, 2009 - 02:18PM

I know this will probably show up in his Brit book, but Rob Halford of Judas Priest was himself one big joke, or rather he pulled off a joke on all his testosterone, hetero gay-bashing fans by getting them to sing along with essentially gay sex anthems. Heavy metal, heavy irony.

Schaefer chose to read it on air, struggling to hold back his laughter, while his guest--who is a Brit--laughed loudly and then said, "Brilliant! I couldn't agree more."