Night Light

Wherein I actually do the numbers on that New Yorker cover, and find that it would never have influenced anything if the Dems had just kept quiet about it

So Obama's upset about a cartoon?  I guess that's even more proof that he's really a Muslim.  (Actually it's his supporters that are objecting.)

A lot of people have asked me what I think of the New Yorker/Barack Obama controversy, so here goes:

The Cover's Inherent Value

First, the cartoon didn't strike me as funny, clever, or insightful.  I didn't "get it," either as a joke or a statement. But then, I react that way to a lot of the New Yorker's covers.  David Remnick's done an impressive job with the contents, but I'm not feelin' the covers.

Is it me?  Do I lack some requisite sense of irony, detachment, and bemusement?  Do you have to be able to gaze down upon humanity from some great height and chuckle, like the Gods on Olympus used to do as they looked through a crystal mirror in those old movies?

If so, I guess I'm not qualified.  I feel like the guy who's supposed to see the two old ladies in the optical illusion but can only see the vase.

So I was not as well-disposed toward the cover as I might have been.

The Cover's Impact On the Election

But will it hurt Obama's election chances by reinforcing those "Obama's a Muslim and his wife's a black militant" rumors?  Well, it wouldn't have - if the Democrats hadn't raised such a fuss about it.  I mean, think about it:  The New Yorker has topped a million in circulation, but some of that is subscriptions. 

So let's do the math.  Let's say that 800,000 copies of the magazine are distributed via newsstands.  Let's assume an average of 15 magazines per newsstand.  That's only 53,000 newsstands in the entire country that have displayed this image!  And those are heavily weighted toward East and West Coast bookstores and news vendors haunted by liberal Democrats.  The checkout stands at Midwestern grocery stores are still dominated by Us and  People. 

What we really care about is how many people saw that cover in swing states - states that are far less likely as a whole to have heavy newsstand sales of the New Yorker.  So let's further assume that 1 in 10 newsstand display of the magazine took place in swing states.  That leaves us with 5,300 locations.  Let's further assume 100 visitors a day to each, with one visitor in ten noticing the cover, for a period of one week.  (For you math geeks, the formula is "(5300*100)/10*7")

The result?  371,000 people in swing states will see that cover.  If one/third of them are likely voters, that leaves us with 123,666 people who saw that cover and will probably vote.  How many of them will be influenced by the cover?  Your guess is as good as mine, but I would assume very, very few.   You want to say 1 in 50?  I think that's really high, but let's go with it.

What does that give us for a final result?   2,473 voters.  That's it.

I don't know about you, but I've got bigger things to worry about.

The Liberal Response

Yes ... I guess it was kind of offensive.  But whereas the cover itself wasn't likely to draw much attention, the objections certainly did.  They  dominated the news coverage for two or three cycles.  Many millions of people who would never have known about the cover heard about it over and over because of these objections.

The result?  Strong subliminal reinforcement for the idea that Obama's a Muslim and his wife's a radical.

The Lesson

Democrats can't seem to learn that you reinforce a subliminal association every time you repeat it ... even if it's to object.  Do they want to do something constructive?  Instead of fighting these images, they should generate some of their own.

Confessions of a Gun Lover

zz top

We've been hearing from a lot of people on the left who hate guns. Good for them. They're saner than I am. I like guns. I always have. Allow me to explain.

I was a good student as a kid - bookish, math-and-arts oriented, and shy. In my neighborhood, that was a good way to make sure you would be the subject of considerable violence.

Something changed when I was 14 or so. I began to become angry - very angry - at the slightest provocation. I started getting into fights, and I was suspended from my school on a a regular basis. I had developed that condition known as an Aversion to Authority. And, unbeknownst to my liberal parents, I had also developed a fascination for guns.

That was in 1967, a period that is ironically remembered now as the Summer of Love.

I also started playing music - but not the psychedelic rock popular at the time. I started playing country music (and, later, other kinds.)

With a good friend of mine (we'll call him Frank, though that wasn't his name), I started firing guns on weekends. His dad's guns, mostly, although he had some of his own. I nearly broke my wrist test-firing a shotgun we sawed off one weekend. (In retrospect, I was lucky not to have blown my hand off.)

I was never a great shot, although I might have become one with practice. The people who taught me how to use guns always pointed out that, while I didn't always hit the target, my bullet holes were always clustered together. "You've got good control," they'd say. "Just spend more time with the weapon and you'll do fine."

I liked shooting guns. I liked examining them, too, for the craftsmanship and the heft. You could say I appeciated guns.

I liked what I thought they stood for, too: Freedom. Independence. The Frontier Spirit.

I never understood how drinking too many beers and shooting out streetlights reflected the Frontier Spirit, exactly, but I liked doing it.

Then I went away to college and didn't think about guns much anymore. And I lost some more of my enthusiasm for them when I was 26 or so. That's when my good friend from high school, Paul Keating, was shot dead by two twelve-year-olds with handguns on a New York City street. He was trying to prevent them from robbing a college kid ... of his roller skates.

They called it "The Good Samaritan Murder." (They've called quite a few killings "The Good Samaritan Murder" over the years, as it turns out.) As Paul lay dying in the street, the robbery victim ran to an all-night deli for help. The owner locked the door and wouldn't let him use the phone. He didn't want to get involved. Paul was a fine and gentle man, a photographer for TIME Magazine with a great life ahead of him.

The Mayor of New York gave Paul a medal - posthumously, of course. He said: "Nobody was watching that night. Nobody made him step up in the time of crisis. He did it because that's the kind of person he was."

He didn't explain why there had to be a crisis that night.

Doll Parts: For JonBenet, The Pageant Isn't Over

The case against John Mark Karr was dropped for lack of evidence, his attorneys said today. This charade will almost surely repeat itself, however, since there are so many parties interested in finding - or becoming - new suspects in the most famous child murder since Lindbergh's. It's a safe bet that everyone, including the victim herself, will be back on their marks again soon.

JonBenet's eyes haunt, and so does her story: the forced pageant performances, her precocious mock sexuality, even the lie that she was a natural platinum blonde. That's a secret she carried for a third of her 6-year-old life. ("You're not supposed to tell that!" she said to her nanny.) Seeing brief glimpses of her on TV the last few days, Courtney Love's lyrics came to mind: "I am doll eyes, doll mouth, doll legs ..."

The mystery of JonBenet Ramsey's death remains, and so do the people whose needs and desires keep it alive. Study the players and motives and it begins to look like a giant web spun by several spiders at once. The family, the journalism professor, politicians, the district attorney, the news media, even the unstable characters ready to win fame through false confession - all are connected by slender but resilient threads of self-interest.

New RJ Song Online

My "Christian hymn for the rest of us" is now online at the Huffington Post as a music exclusive there:

"I Wish More Christians Loved Jesus"

 

I'm not Christian as such, which makes it unusual, but there it is.

I play all the instruments and stuff, but thanks to my background vocalists:  Jerry F and  Pat R.

(by request, lyrics added below)

thinking outside the ...

close de' box*

Via Mr. Sun,  a challenge to come up with new slogans to replace that well-worn cliche, "thinking outside the box."  My suggestions, based on years of forced attendance at corporate training sessions: 

• Smokin' some  primo talcum.   
• Being a random word generator.   
• Using up the airspace so no other idiot gets to talk.   
• Desperately trying to think of something before I have to finish this sentence.   
• Matriculating at the University of Me.   
• Thinking outside the unemployment office.
  

Extra points if you caught the Kurt Cobain reference - the picture, of course, is of a "heart shaped box." (You remember: Hey, wait, I got a real complaint ... St. Cobain could be bitchy, too, as evidenced by his description of plump rival rocker Billy Corgan as a "pear shaped box.")

*You get even more extra points if you get the reference in the caption.

UPDATE:  Give up on that caption reference?  Go here.

two wolves and a spider

an oft-repeated question is finally answered

"I have to infer from that (statement) that you would be happier if Saddam Hussein were still in power."    - Paul Wolfowitz

Let's deal with this question once and for all, OK?   It's the classic retort given by neocons and other war supporters whenever anyone questions the wisdom of the Iraq War.   In this case, it was Wolfowitz's response to a student who had just said the following:   "We are tired, Secretary Wolfowitz, of being feared and hated by the world. We are tired of watching Americans and Iraqis die, and international institutions cry out in anger against us." 

Let's say I get disturbed by a spider crawling up the garage wall.  I slam the car into it at 50 miles an hour, destroying the car and causing a few thousand dollars in damage to the garage.  When my wife objects, I say:

"I have to infer from that statement that you would be happier if that spider were still crawling up the wall."    No, schmuck, she says, I'd be happier if we still had a car and didn't have to fork out ten thousand dollars to fix the garage.

"Well, maybe you think our house is safe from spiders," I say.  "Maybe you don't think spiders are a health problem.  Maybe you don't realize some spiders are venomous."   Thinking of Joe Lieberman, I add "Maybe you're in a 'spider-hole of denial.'"   With David Horowitz-like reasoning, I go on to say "Maybe you support the spiders.  Maybe you and the spiders are allies."  I then show my wife a chart that includes her picture, together with a tarantula and a black widow, as part of an international network of spider-supporters.   "Since you're so pro-spider," I ask her, "why don't you just go discuss this little problem with your 'friends' here?"

Spiders can be a health problem, she says, but there are lots of spiders in the neighborhood.  This one wasn't a threat to us, and we can't go destroying things and spending tons of money every time we see a spider.

Before I can respond, Wolf Blitzer happens by.  Wolf comes in and surveys the damage, then helpfully points out that "there have been some successes in the war on spiders, to judge by the corpse visible under the crumpled fender of this sedan."    You don't make any sense either, she says to Wolf.   Now that the wall's destroyed, says my wife, we'll have more spiders in the house than ever.

"Well, if you care more about your spiders than you do about keeping our home safe," I tell her, " I don't think we can talk about this rationally."
_____________________

So Dear Wolfie, and anybody else tempted to pose this question:    No.  I would not be happier if Saddam Hussein were still in power.   I would be happier if 1,500 Americans were still alive.  I would be happier if 20,000 - 150,000 Iraqi civilians were still alive.  I would be happier if tens of thousands of American soldiers didn't have to face a future of disfigurement, disability, and/or psychological torment.  I would be happier if my country didn't violate international law.  I would be happier if we hadn't allowed Iraq to become a breeding ground for new terrorists.   I would be happier if I hadn't been lied to by an unethical government and an incompetent news media. I would be happier if we did something else with the $250 billion we're spending on this war.   I would be happier if the policy of successfully containing Saddam had been continued.  I would be happier if we hadn't gone through all this just so we can replace Saddam's dictatorship with a pro-Iranian theocracy.  I would be happier if we had any military resources to spare, so maybe we could rescue the helpless people of Darfur.

My happiness was never going to be influenced by Saddam Hussein's career path.   Instead, my happiness is affected by the well-being of Americans and Iraqis who have suffered needlessly as a result of your war.   

Next question.

diagnosing dr. frist

so tell me, Bill, do you get these feelings often?

Dr. Bill Frist had no qualms about “diagnosing” Terri Schiavo based on a few seconds of video. In fact, “having no qualms” appears to be a distinguishing and extreme Frist characteristic. So with the help of a diagnostic manual and Google, and with Frist’s approval of remote diagnosis, I thought it only fair to diagnose the good Doctor himself. Guess what? He fits the profile of a sociopath. But he’s a doctor, you say. Yeah, yeah. So’s Hannibal Lecter.

 I conducted some research on Frist’s behavior as culled from media reports, excerpts from his autobiography, and interviews with the subject. (It should be noted that this is more extensive data than Frist had on Terri Schiavo.) Of particular note was his lifelong pattern of remorselessness and seemingly conscienceless behavior toward others. I ran this pattern of behavior against the DSM-IV manual of psychiatric illnesses and found a strong fit in “Antisocial Personality Disorder,” or “APD.” This is the clinical term for a “sociopath,” which itself is a clinical term that means “really bad person.”

 Let’s look at the evidence and play diagnostician. According the the DSM the clinical characteristics of APD are "failure to conform to social norms;  deceitfulness, manipulativeness;  impulsivity, failure to plan ahead;  irritability, aggressiveness;    reckless disregard for the safety of self or others;    consistent irresponsibility;   and, lack of remorse after having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another person. At least three of these characteristics must be present to make this diagnosis."

Much of Bill Frist’s (henceforth referred to as “the subject”) life story is closed to the public, but a lot of his behavior is on the record: toward the pet owners he deceived as a young man so he could dissect their cats, toward the woman he betrayed and left at the altar, toward his colleagues in the Senate, and toward the American people. When he decided to enter politics, he didn’t even care what party he joined, as long as he could advance his own career, yet he is remorseless in pursuit of that party’s goals and ideology.    Now that's scary. 

My conclusion:   APD.

But wait, you say. You’re not qualified to make this diagnosis. You don’t have all the facts. You’re just doing this to further your political agenda. Hmm … where have I heard that before? So don’t take my word for it. Let’s look at the evidence:

rise of the sexcons

move over, Jenna Jameson

Several years ago I left a screening of “Black Hawk Down” with two male friends. One of them look around him as the other patrons left the theater. “All men,” he said. “It’s like a porn theater.” I look back and think, I should've seen this coming. . Whether it’s Jeff Gannon on hotmilitarystuds.com, Rush Limbaugh calling the Abu Ghraib photos  “good old American pornography,” or right-wingers joking about Lynndie England, the pornogrification of war is endemic. Glorifying violence is no longer enough – now it’s being sexualized.  It’s conservatism as sexual deviance. Welcome to the world of the sexcons. 

The new pornographers are usually voyeurs in the world of war, not participants, and that aspect of the movement starts at the top. The President is not as overtly erotic in his celebration of war, but he certainly panders to the sexcons. Parading in flight gear on an aircraft carrier deck was a form of dress-up more suitable to sexual role-playing than it was to the behavior of a head of state who has been forced to order the deaths of others. And anyone who isn’t afraid to socialize with those of all sexual orientations will recognize the blue-blooded Bush’s self-conscious stride as being more suited to Flirtation Walk than the OK Corral. “In Texas we call that walking,” says the President. That’s true enough. I’ve got a diverse group of friends in Texas.

Sexual deviance is a difficult term to use these days, but I use it in this sense: anyone whose sexuality is psychologically unhealthy to themselves or others, and which finds expression in antisocial forms, is deviant. My belief about sexuality is that forms of expression which involve mutual agreement, hurt no one, and involve no coercion (physical or psychic) are acceptable and healthy. By my terms, sexcon-ism is sexual deviance. 

This administration has used pornographic style and imagery to an unprecedented degree. The burned and disfigured corpses of Hussein’s two sons were widely distributed by the government in a snuff-film presentation of global scale. The film of an Army medic probing Saddam’s scalp, nose, and ultimately his mouth with latex gloves had a decidedly pornographic feel. The other places those gloved hands probed are left to the viewer’s imagination, suggested but not depicted with the flair of a true auteur.

We’ve got violence-porn in the media, too. Whether it’s Denzel Washington chopping fingers off in “Man on Fire” or Kiefer Sutherland running amok in “24”, war-based sadism is hot right now. And the writers are always careful to give us a good reason for indulging our carnal desires, so we don’t have to feel too guilty. 

As for the deviants themselves, let’s look at a couple of examples. Limbaugh, a soft and slothful type who has never seen battle, exults at length about the sexual excitement he felt on seeing the Abu Ghraib pictures (he describes being pulled over by police and hoping Lynndie England would be among them). Rush would apparently sit in his mansion popping pills and exciting himself with torture pictures. That didn’t stop the Vice President of the United   States (another non-combatant) from appearing on his show.

When non-soldier Jeff Gannon wasn’t lobbing “softballs” (interesting word, that) to the President he dressed like a sexualized version of a soldier and called himself “Bulldog” and “usmcpt” while advertising prostitution services on the above-mentioned site, malecorps.com, and militaryescorts4m (for men).  That suggests that there are not only hookers like Gannon working this market, but presumably johns too. Anybody care to speculate on who they might be?

Traditional conservatives are not sexcons, but their tolerance of these sick individuals in their midst suggests a lack of moral values that is profound, and profoundly shameful. (See Cheney, above.) At the risk of beating a dead horse (which, I understand, is sexually arousing in certain political quarters) – the FCC gets excited about a breast with a pastie on it, and lets Limbaugh broadcast his obscenity without interference? Please!

There’s a part of me (don’t ask) that wishes I was a sexcon, particularly when I’m alone. If I were gay I could collect Jeff Gannon pictures, or fantasize about torturing male Muslims. As a straight man, I could think about all those female prisoners. Better yet, I could imagine skinny blonde Ann Coulter in a black minidress suggesting we “kill all their leaders and convert them to Christianity.” Then I might play the Minister and the Deacon’s Wife with the lady down the street.

It’s like Zero Mostel and Estelle Winwood in the original “Producers.” Remember the Contessa and the Chauffeur, or the Tomcat and the Kitty? They’re not your father’s conservatives any more. Mee-yow!

nugent, seger, and the politics of the atom

ted nugent:  is he a pion, a lepton, or a kaon?

I got badly scratched by the house feline yesterday. I was afraid I would come down with cat scratch fever, but luckily the incubation period passed without symptoms. Thank God.  I try to avoid catching any diseases that share their names with Ted Nugent songs, which made last year’s crippling bout of Wango Tango particularly upsetting.

I'll ruminate on Ted today, but save my praise for Bob Seger. If you haven’t checked him out lately, you really should. He’s under-appreciated. And I’ll wind up suggesting how modern politics can be explained using particle physics. Can you guess which particle Don Rumsfeld is? Bear with me, and maybe it will make more sense that either you or I are expecting right now.

You may remember Ted Nugent, the marginally successful rock singer and guitarist from the 70’s. The Michigan-based Nugent, who is almost universally looked down upon by his fellow musicians, made a name for himself as an aggressively right-wing pro-meat eating hunter. He has been able to extend a languishing entertainment career by embracing these conservative positions, which I guess makes him the musical Dennis Miller. Or makes Christopher Hitchens the literary Ted Nugent.

But (and this is important enough to break the rules and start a paragraph with “but”) – I’m not going to go after “the Nuge,” as he is called. No. Hitchens was enough. Joseph Campbell used to quote the old Irish saying, “Is this a private fight or can anyone join in?” Nevertheless, there are some bar brawls even I don’t consider worth jumping into. (I shouldn’t end a sentence with “into”, either – but it doesn’t sound right to say “There are some bar brawls into which even I won’t consider jumping.”)

I admit to having at times been morbidly fascinated with Ted Nugent. I once saw him perform and, while I wasn’t moved, he seemed to induce a fist-pumping, beer-spraying, halter-top-removing response from the men and women (respectively) in the crowd. My fascination was with Ted, though – his extraordinary self-confidence in the absence of apparent musicianship was extraordinary to watch. And I mean that in (sort of) a good way.

Michigan is also the home of Bob Seger who, unlike Nugent, is highly talented. He is the author of the drug-bust masterpiece “Get Out of Denver,” with its speeded up Chuck Berry riffs and lyrics that update the literary narrative style of … well, Chuck Berry. “You look just like a commie and you might just be a member,” says a hostile cop to the hippie protagonist. “Get out of  Denver.”

(continue below to talk more Seger, analyze the Nuge, and help create the new field of politico-physics)

alien love

don't knock it 'til you've tried it

Why is this alien smiling?

Don't you think that with all this talk of alien anal probes, much of it as the result of a Harvard professor's work, that you'd want to avoid writing an article called The Gnostic Theory of Alien Intrusion?  It's not about that.

Some people say it's all pseudoscience, but I think they're just afraid of trying new experiences.  I'm waiting for that liberating weekend seminar at Esalen - "Rigelian Love Secrets."  For it is only be embracing the alien outside us that we can learn to love the alien within.  So what if you can't sit down for a few days?  It's a small price to pay for becoming one with the erotosphere.  Move over, Rev. Falwell, and stopping hogging the jacuzzi.

Aliens.  Spongebob.  Ken Mehlman.  It's an epidemic.

They're all saying the same thing to the Dobsons and Falwells of this little world we call home:  gay or straight or bi, all healthy sexuality is OK.  Release that part of your personality that makes you think sexual thoughts about 'toons and other non-humans!  Let him out of that closet you call your mind!  Find your sexual heart now - before you make fools of yourselves again.

Hey, honey, I'm gonna put "Fly Me to the Moon" on the stereo.  I feel the love comin' on.