North Mississippi All Stars at State Theater – ‘09 Edition

North Mississippi All Stars

Luther, Cody, and Chris did it again.  They put on a solid show at the State Theater in Falls Church on Friday, April 10.  In fact, the show was so good that it actually beat the weariness of a long week right out of me.   For those of you new to NMAS, check out “Shake What Yo Mama Gave You” performed on the Craig Ferguson show after the jump.   Youtube clips of NMAS with good sound are hard to come by, and this was one of the rare few.

Don’t Give this Guy a Blank Check

He’ll just mail it back to you.

Back when I was living in Portland, Oregon (aka Puddletown, Stumptown, the City of Roses, or the City in the State of Complete Weirdos), I got a letter from the then-governor of the great State of Washington.  His assistant drafted the letter on Governor Locke’s behalf and enclosed a blank check . . . that belonged to me.

Turns out the Governor was making an official visit to the State of Oregon back in 2000, was walking down the street in Portland, found a loose blank check on the sidewalk, picked it up, and directed one of his minions to return it to its rightful owner.  Which was me.

Now, how did the Governor find one of my blank checks on the sidewalk, you ask?  The good lord only knows.  Maybe was I in  downtown Portland.  Maybe I had a loose blank check in my pocket.  Maybe it fell out.  I have no idea.  This is what it’s like to be Handy.

Regardless, if you’re a VIP Governor who presided over a period of substantial economic growth in the state of Washington, you could do any number of things when you find a blank check on the sidewalk.  You could ignore it, shake your head at the thought of the moron who carries loose blank checks on his person and keep on walking.  You could stop, shake your head at the moron, pick it up, and throw it away.  You could tell someone else to pick it up, tell them to shake his/her head at the moron, and then throw it away.     Or you could shake your head at the moron, write it for an appropriate amount, and then cash it, because you never know how rich this moron is and how big the state budget deficit might be next fiscal year.

Then-governor Locke did none of the above.   He gave that loose blank check to his assistant, wrote “void” on the check (if I recall correctly), and directed his assistant to mail it back to the address on the check.  Which was that of Handy, a law student with barely a pot to piss in and who happened to live in the John’s Landing neighborhood of Portland at the time.

The point of this story?  In my humble opinion, any governor willing to pick up a blank check on a city street and have the presence of mind to mail it back to its rightful owner has to be a good pick for Commerce Sec’y.  I mean, are you kidding?  The strangely comic and uncynical irony of Governor Locke’s honorable past conduct, combined with his pending nomination to be Commerce Secretary and the total economic chaos that has befallen the globe, is just too much for this rambler to bare.   At worst, he’s a skillful politician.  At best, this is a measure of his integrity as a public official, his attention to detail, and his compassion for regular folks (even morons).   If that’s the kind of effort he makes when times are good, think of what he’ll do now that the fit has hit the shan.  I’m just sayin’.

On the other hand, maybe he shoulda kept that blank check.   He may need it if he gets confirmed as Commerce Sec’y, After all, every little bit helps -  its not like the government couldn’t use a blank check right now.  Even Handy’s.

Happy Pinko-Commie-Godless-Liberal-Arsenio-Lost-in-Space Day

As I tipped my glass of Chianti “classico” while sitting in my urban flat with my wife (double-income-no-kids…natch), watching my favorite evening leftist propaganda psuedo-news program, I realized it’s a redletter day for liberals out there.

Turns out, there’s a few birthdays worth celebrating by those of us who care about freedom, facts, and fairness:

Abraham Lincoln NAACP Charles Darwin

And then there’s a couple of birthdays worth celebrating by a few of us who care about fist pumps and finding planet earth:

Arsenio Hall Lorne Greene

Thank you, sir…may I have another

As I was saying before, I made a short trip up to NYC with el D to join Hotspur78 for a live Black Keys show. The show was mind-blowing and it was mighty kind of el D to include me on his short and exclusive ticket list, and equally kind of Hotspur78 to host.

After just a few winks of sleep following our return from drinks in the West Village, I awoke at 9 a.m. and made my way to midtown to head back to DC. Short trip, but other obligations called and I had no choice but to return to our nation’s capital.

The bus, apparently run by Washington Deluxe, was mercifully and relatively unpopulated. Maybe 20 people. The bus driver told us we’d pay for our tickets when we got to New Jersey Ave. in DC (squirrel this little fact away for later). The few people on the bus made for a quiet and comfortable trip where I could stretch out these broomsticks I call legs, read an absorbing book by Stephen Coll, and just daydream the hours away until I got back to DC. Everything was copacetic…until we got into DC.

On a left turn from New York Ave. onto N. Capitol, the bus somehow managed to not exactly turn. Rather than the 90 degree arc that one expects vehicles, even M-1A1 tanks, to be capable of making at moderate speeds (particularly when you have the green left hand turn arrow), the bus instead made more of a 45 degree arc. Which would have been fine if that’s where the street was. But it wasn’t. The bus ended up surging forward onto a traffic island home to a forbidding steel post with a lamp, and then ran head on right into the steel pole, knocking the lamp into the street and bending the pole like the leaning tower of Pisa. Click on the link below to see the general location.

View Larger Map

The impact with the steel post sent most people out of their seats and onto the floor, or pinballed them into the seats in front of them. It appeared that the Washington Deluxe bus driver had hurt his leg, but other than that there were no serious injuries as far I could tell (knock on wood). There was, however, enough shock to spark some serious wtfs from the crowd.

Fortunately, someone had the presence of mind to call an ambulance. The paramedics showed up at about the time you’d expect for New York Ave. and N. Capitol, which is to say we all sat there for a while wondering what in the name of all that is holy just happened. With a little effort, the driver and a passenger got the door open, the paramedics showed up, checked people out, and surveyed the scene. We were safe within the arms of DC’s public safety infrastructure, such as it is.

And then, out of nowhere, a Washington Deluxe representative showed up. Literally, suddenly there was some guy on the bus with that stupid Washington Deluxe letter sized envelope they use to dispense tickets and… collect money. Washington Deluxe just happened to have someone in the neighborhood there to take our money! The Washington Deluxe representative was definitely not there to apologize for putting everyone’s lives in danger and to assure them that help was on the way, or let everyone know that they would still get to their destinations free of charge. Nope, the Washington Deluxe guy was there to make sure everyone paid for their tickets. Because, ya know, we hadn’t gotten to New Jersey Ave yet.  Which is unbelievably insane.  The bus was just in an accident.  The Washington Deluxe driver ran the bus into a steel post, put us in the middle of a busy intersection in a major metropolitan area. Yeah, right, I’m definitely gonna pay for that. Yes sir, may I please have another.

I expected mass outrage and revolt at the appearance of this Washington Deluxe grim reaper character attempting to collect money.  Instead, many passengers, at the height of their vulnerability, having just been in an accident, confused, and still in danger until they got off the bus, started actually paying the guy. They paramedic would check them out, and the guy would ask for the ticket fee, and they’d hand over the cash. It was surreal. I mean, I can’t blame them; money was probably the last thing on their minds. They probably were just glad they had life and limb and wanted to know how they were going to get home.

And then he got to me, and I said to myself:  Self, just wait a minute, a bus operated by Washington Deluxe runs off the road and into a steel post, makes us into human pinballs and throwing a few of us ass over elbows throughout the bus, and most importantly, putting all of our lives in danger…and he wants me to give him money? Hmmm…should I offer to mow his lawn and pay him a dollar, too? I mean, jesus.

With all of the measure in a response that I could muster, I politely let the Washington Deluxe guy know that I was not paying him, that the bus was just in an accident, that this is insane. (Talk about great facts for you personal injury ramblers out there). He told me to get off the bus, he was just doing what he was told. (Even better! Nice public relations work, genius: order us to pay up or get out?!).  Since I wanted nothing more than to get off the bus, I did.

But not before it dawned on everyone else that maybe this is the age of hope and Obama and what not, and that there’s no need to get screwed by the man or Washington Deluxe or anyone else anymore. Long story short, they exhorted the Washington Deluxe money-collector grim reaper guy to call his boss and let him know there was a mass insurrection on the bus, that it was batshit crazy to suggest that anyone should pay for this. He apparently made the call, talked some sense into his stuperiors, and the intrepid passengers all got their money back. There’s justice in this world after all.

My work having been done, I started walking toward the nearest metro, grateful that I was walking at all. And swearing I’d never use Washington Deluxe to get to NYC again.

Jazz Sucks

I suffered one of the greatest musical disappointments of my life last night. After a long trip back from New York on Saturday to see the Black Keys with Hotspur78 and el D, and after my bus got into an accident (see forthcoming post), and after mustering the energy and the nerve to get back on the highway to have an otherwise enjoyable dinner with work colleagues out in Virginia, from which we got completely lost in Maryland on our return to DC (don’t ask), I returned home feeling like I’d earned a short respite from trials of a long and tiring Saturday. I wanted to watch SNL.

I renewed my interested in SNL after it nailed the election season with genious-inspired skits and then kept the hits coming (“Really?!?!” slays me, just puts me in stitches – see the latest on Michael Phelps).

But I also wanted to watch SNL because one of my new fav bands was gonna be on: TV on the Radio. And this is where the disappointment arrives, like a grand piano from the tenth story. Did they cancel their appearance, you ask? Was it just some stupid solo accoustic thing without the full band? Of course not. The former would have been bearable, at least, and the latter mostly impossible. Either way, under either scenario I could have told myself that I didn’t see the whole band, that’s there more to come. I love this band. I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

So what happened? Well, TV on the Radio was on… and they sucked. Seriously, Golden Age was the worst musical performance I have ever seen on SNL, and have ever seen period. My junior high orchestra was tighter than this. And only half as weird. Maybe it’s suckiness is exaggerated by the sheer balls-out awesomeness of seeing the Black Keys live the night before. Or maybe it was because I just wanted to chill out in my castle with my queen and be entertained like the Ward 3 psuedo-royalty I like to pretend I am. I really don’t know. All I know is that I ended Saturday in defeat, retreating to the sleeping quarters with my queen to ponder the unfairness of it all.

But seriously, it’s important that a band play like a band, like where everything is generally in the same key and at the same tempo. Otherwise, you’re just playing jazz, and jazz sucks.

Maybe I’m wrong. Judge for yourself, below.

A Holiday Gift From Don Draper

Not that I’m joining the war on Christmas or anything, but there is absolutely nothing seasonal about this post. It’s just a great sketch, a little something for you Mad Men fans out there. A Christmas gift, if you will.

more about “Saturday Night Live: Mad Men Guide To…“, posted with vodpod

Creds to Comedy.com for this video.

Terrence and Philip Would Be So Proud

Saw Bowling for Columbine last night on the ol’ idiot box. BfC came out in 2002, after 9-11 and before the start of the Iraq War in 2003. It’s now 2008, pushing 2009, and we just elected America’s first black president. Watching this clip again six years later makes me think, well, maybe there’s hope for us after all. Terrence and Philip would be proud.

We like to call this “The Reverse Wire-Tap”

According to a report by cnn.com, it sounds like the Verizon network is a little too good.  Remember all those helpful Verizon support people that come with signing onto a Verizon plan and ideally follow you everywhere?  Yeah, well they were apparently hacking into the now President-elect’s (and then Senator Obama’s) cell phone records.

And here there was all this fuss over the goverment using telecoms to spy on the public.   These telecom employees seem to have been doing it just fine all by themselves – and on the government, to boot.

Still on the Bottle

This from a novelty news webs: “A 38-year-old man was cited for disorderly conduct in Fond du Lac, Wis., in September after he bought a beer for his sons, ages 2 and 4, at the county fair. He could not be cited for providing alcohol to minors because, under Wisconsin law, parents are exempt, but he was written up for swearing at police. [Post Crescent (Appleton, Wis.), 9-24-08]“

It wouldn’t seem so weird to come across this story, but for the fact that the New York Times itself just did a story on Wisconsin’s statewide booziness. When I heard about the story from my friend the Diplomat but had not yet read it, I thought, in my finest midwestern accent: “o-ah for pete’s sake, who give’s a good and righteous poop about drinkin’ a little beer in WisCAHNsin.”

But then I read in the New York Times story about a guy who drinks 7-8 beers during the course of evening to “relax,” and then 12 on the weekend, presumably to do something other than just relax. And the fact that one is not convicted of felony drunk driving in Wisconsin until after the fifth bust. And, of course, there’s the bartender who serves teenagers accompanied by their drunk parents. Jesus. I’m not a doctor and this isn’t medical advice, but don’t go looking to hospitals in Wisconsin if you need a liver transplant.

And, really, buying your kids beer at a bar? Or at the state fair? I mean, I’m not one to judge (though I often do), but are you playing quarters with their allowance? Are you so in need of drinking buddies that you need to get your toddlers sloshed?

Take it from Elbows, a recovering sloshed toddler who knew how to find the empties around the house in his prime (that being 3 years old): the bottle only leads one place, and you only get there via the porcelain bus and a dose of ipecac.

We’re Surrounded By…

The clip below pretty much sums up how I feel about Bailout vote today.  We’re surrounded.

Asleep at the Switch

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If this Twin Cities article about a little incident at the GOP convention isn’t a parable of what has been going on the last eight years, I really don’t know what is.

And check out his interview during the convention. A real winner. It turns out there is a god, and he hates hypocritical warmongering d-bags.

On Community Organizers and Situational Awareness

As a former community organizer – and a proud one at that – I kinda liked the GOP convention tonight.

I know, I know, I’m with you.  At first I, too, cringed at the sneering nastiness and divisiveness of the speeches.  Call me old fashioned, but I tend to prefer a discussion of ideas on how to fix this ol’ hoopty of a nation, even though I could just as easily lay into the morons who drained the transmission fluid in the first place.  I mean, really, let’s just show them where the oil pan is for future reference and then take away the keys.  But, I digress.

Why would ol’ Elbows enjoy the GOP convention, you ask?  Well, I’ll tell you why.  Because the speakers repeatedly, and frankly, weirdly, attacked “community organizers” throughout the evening’s vitriolic and bile-ridden speeches.  Something about how Barack Obama was a community organizer during part of his career, and how that’s not a “real” job  and what not.

Putting aside the seemingly racist undertones of attempting to slander the term “community organizer,” the reason I could stomach these undeniably hateful speeches is because the speakers lacked the situational awareness to realize what community organizers do.

I mean, just take a guess.  What do community organizers do?  Well, first and foremost, they organize… people.  Like autoworkers, police officers, firefighters, fishermen, hunters, teachers, nurses, janitors, farmworkers, steelworkers, service employees, etc.  All of whom happen to be voters.

And you know what else?   When they and their communities are viciously slandered, community organizers tend to organize with more, shall we say, energy.  The last time I checked, community organizers aren’t in it for the money.  They’re in it for the heart and they don’t quit.  They are determined to help the people who have come to them needing it most.  They’re used to adversity and long odds, and they don’t cower easily.  (Sounds like a certain Democratic presidential nominee, no?).

So, ever one to point out the obvious, I have to say that the GOP’s approach was lacking in basic strategery.  And for all you community organizers out there, that’s something you actually know about (and more importantly, know how to say).

We’re Oscar Mike

Dunno about the rest of you Ramblers, but I’m enjoying HBO’s latest series, “Generation Kill,” from the good Mr. David Simon, who brought us “The Wire.” Here’s a favorable review from the New York Times that tells you just about everything you need to know about the series.

And here’s a clip that, in some ways, sums up the whole series.  Here, the Battalion siezes a vacant Iraqi airfield and then declares “victory,” only having the night before abandoned 400 lbs. of C-4 explosives and a truck full of food rations to would-be Iraqi insurgents, all in a bureaucratic blitz to beat the Brits to the undefended landing strip.  A classic example of losing by succumbing to the vanity of trying to make it look like you’re winning.  FYI, NSFW.

Going for the Jugular

With the sad news of Mr. Russert’s tragic and unexpected passing still on my mind, and even moreso since today is Sunday, I feel like I need to add one more thought in homage to this man’s noble life.

Tim Russert, on nearly every Sunday since 1984 and until just the other day, asked the toughest questions of the most evasive and silver-tongued sophists in the nation.  His passing reminds me of a convseration I had with a good friend several years ago.

During the aftermath of the Iraq invasion and the lead-up to the 2004 election, my friend acknowledged that Tim Russert asked the challenging questions. But, out of frustrustation with the state of affairs in our republic, my friend faulted Russert for never going for the jugular and drawing conclusions from the facts that Russert so deftly stole from his guest’s feeble responses. He would stop, my friend claimed, as if not wanting to ruffle too many feathers of the big bird establisment.

Looking back, it is easy to see that such is the beauty of Tim Russert’s interviewing style. The guy never had subpoena power. He couldn’t keep the witness on the stand, he couldn’t force his guest to answer a question he/she simply will not answer, and he couldn’t draw our conclusions or do our thinking for us.   But he did his level best to extract the facts, as admitted or glaringly omitted by his guests, and let his nation-wide audience do the rest.

The clip above is one great example of how Russert, with only the power of preparation and plain old fashioned logic and deductive reasoning, exposed the most evil and deceptive of our so-called national leaders. He didn’t have to call Cheney a liar and he didn’t have to tell Cheney that he should be impeached.

That was our job. Tim Russert always did his. Next time, and god help us if there is a next time… let’s do ours.

House Boat

Unbelievable. Check out what happened in Wisco during the recent floods.  A road barrier near Lake Delton broke, and carried with it a 4 bedroom 2.5 bath beauty downstream, halfway to St. Louis by now.

And, the best thing about the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel article I linked to above is how worried everyone is about whether the Tommy Bartlett Thrill Show is going to survive now that Lake Delton is a river again. That’s right, screw the swimming houses.   Let’s see some wicked team waterskiing jumps.