T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
January 2004 Volume 5 issue 5
Washington, DC
Hey everybody, It's that time of the month again - only it's really
that time of the year - and since it's the New Year - I was
thinking about George Santayana, who said, "Those who forget
the past are condemned to repeat it," and since George
Santayana said, "Those who forget the past are condemned
to repeat it," I thought I would go ahead and repeat the past in
the hope that we can forget it.
January 2003
The year starts off with U.S. troops leaving the newly formed nation of
Afghan-a-mart® and pulling up to the pumps at the Persian Gulf®
Station demanding that Saddam Hussein either give back the weapons of
mass destruction we sold him or immediately install pay-at-the-pump and develop a taste for Frappucinos®. But that story was overshadowed by the arrest of Pete Townshend on the grounds that he visited a kiddie porn site called "Hope-I-die-before-I-get-old.com."
Townshend's arrest prompts Who fan and FCC Chairman Michael Powell (son of Secretary of State and non-Who-fan Colin Powell) to demand the removal of all porn sites from the Internet. After swift compliance, the Internet is left with only one site – "www.we-want-our-porn-back.com"
Pennsylvania Governor Tom Ridge is spared a recall by being removed from office by President Bush and given the post of Homeland Security chief. Three hundred and forty seven known Al Qaeda members surrender, saying, "there is no way we can outwit all that duct tape and plastic sheeting."
February 2003
On the first of the month, in the first of several bizarre outer-space encounters, the space shuttle Columbia explodes, causing NASA® officials to blame Chinese-made heat tiles. China responds by denying responsibility and suggesting that perhaps NASA should stop sending people into outer space in rockets built by the lowest bidder. Six months later, China successfully sends their first Taikonaut Yang "Buzz" Liwei into orbit.
In an unrelated story, on February 11th astronomers at Yale University® confirm the "big bang theory" though skeptics note that the world needed no confirmation of the theory - and that the astronomers should call back when they can drop the word theory from their proclamation.
Protesting U.S. militarism around the world, millions gather in London, New York, San Francisco, Cairo, Paris, Sidney, and West Warwick, R.I., where the band Great White attempts to show the denizens of a small nightclub what bombs look like when they explode. The demonstration kills over 100, including guitarist Ty Longley.
On February 26th Michael Jackson admits to British TV that he has "slept with many children." In a possibly related story, Fred Rodgers dies on February 27th. Astronomers at Yale University rename Asteroid Family 26858 Misterroggersneighborhood® in his honor (really).
March 2003
Operation Iraqi Freedom is officially launched on March 19. Upset by lack of French participation in the festivities, the congressional cafeteria replaces "french fries" on the menu with "freedom fries." The Discovery Channel® bans Jacques Cousteau reruns, slam poets openly admit they have never read Rimbaud, and California wine makers start an anti-French campaign, boasting, "We will sell no wine before it is bottled."
April 2003
While using Mapquest® on the road to Baghdad, amnesia patient and future recipient of a multi-million-dollar book deal Private Jessica Lynch makes a wrong turn and is involved in a car accident. An argument over who is at fault turns ugly, leaving twelve dead. Lynch, who was knocked unconscious in the crash, is taken to a nearby hospital and released four days later under the supervision of a platoon of special forces. Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks team
up for a multi-million-dollar made-for-TV drama of the event called "Saving Private Lynch." In an unrelated event, five months later CBS announces it will not release another made-for-TV movie,
"The Reagans," because it is not historically accurate.
Meanwhile, other U.S. troops know better than to use Mapquest® and enter Baghdad to pull down a statue of Sadam Hussein. Hundreds of Iraqi children cheer as statue lands atop Bill O'Reilly, giving new meaning to the word "embedded." In a scene reminiscent of the burning of the Alexandria library, news accounts filter out about rampant looting in the cradle of civilization - museums are left empty and somehow Dick Cheney® winds up with a stone tablet copy of the Babylonian Beacon-Journal (first edition, printed in cuneiform) sitting on his coffee table beneath the latest issues of Guns and Ammo, Men's Health, and the swimsuit edition of National Geographic.
According to Cheney® all weapons of mass destruction were moved from Tikrit to North Korea, Iran and Omaha, NE.
May 2003
An AWOL Texas National Guard pilot is flown in a jet to an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf wearing a costume from "The Matrix." Standing in front of a banner that reads "Mission Accomplished," said airman announces to the world that the war is over and he will now begin cutting veterans' benefits. Watching from a satellite TV, members of the Paris, TX VFW begin chanting, "Where were you in '72?"
In an unrelated story, stock prices of cake-decorating tubes plummet as happy homemaker Martha Stewart® is charged with obstruction of justice and securities fraud, leaving postfeminists everywhere pondering the fashion possibilities of the orange jumpsuit. Cast members of Bravo's "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" are hired to "tidy up" Ms. Stewart's cell.
The month's most profound, earth-shattering and otherwise unbelievable story is Chris Chandler and Anne Feeney perform at the Kerrville Folk Festival.
June 2003
Fox news anchor Bill O'Reilly announces on June 5th that New York Times journalist Jayson Blair has been forced to resign from the paper under charges of "journalistic fraud" - prompting O'Reilly to declare Fox news the new "source of public record."
Al Franken's "Lies and the Lying Liars who tell them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right" reaches No. 1 on the New York Times bestseller list.
Bill O'Reilly sues Franken for the unfair use of the word "fair," which O'Reilly claims he owns. In a unanimous decision, the California Supreme Court decides O'Reilly is not guilty by reason of insanity and cites as evidence his tendency to continually mutter beneath his breath and then out of the blue shout "SHUT UP!" at anyone to the left of Spiro Agnew. Fox News announces that it will keep O'Reilly on the payroll, citing a California statute preventing employers from discriminating against the mentally handicapped.
July 2003
Canada announces the legalization of gay marriage. Congress responds by placing a ban on Canadian pharmaceutical Ecstasy.
August 2003
On August 10th, Russian Cosmonaut Yuri Malenchenko became the first person to exchange wedding vows from outer space. His earthbound bride proclaims that they will honeymoon in Canada pointing out that, "that place really is outer space."
Soon to be new Canadian Prime Minister Paul Martin replies, "If ya think about it - we're all really from outer space." In a purportedly unrelated story, Canada decrimininalized marijuana use a month earlier.
A European heat wave causes the death of thousands. CIA director George Tennet claims the event was prompted by Saddam Hussein's secret weather ray-gun -- which is also responsible for the mysterious power outage across the U S.
However, further investigation concludes that a little known provision in George Bush's "no-child-left-behind" program actually triggered the incident. It seems that in Akron, Ohio concern about recess safety prompted the Akron board of education to purchase 7000 copies of virtual 4 Square from Game boy 2. The usual 3:00 recess period causes a power failure from Montreal to New York City. Lower Manhattan is renamed little Baghdad as New Yorkers struggle to consume all of the melting Ben and Jerry's in the east village. The New York Times claims it is the worst disaster since 9-11. People in Baghdad left powerless since US bombs started falling in 1990 disagree. Jayson Blair is blamed for the error.
September 2003
Howard Dean surges ahead in the "Anyone but Bush Campaign" as Mars moved closer to earth than it has since humans first discovered masturbation. This marvel coupled with other astronomical phenomenon prompted viewers to cheer as Arnold Schwarzenegger® announces he will run for the governorship of California. Unaware that he had made the announcement on a comedy show,Schartzanagger® takes the cheers to mean he can actually win. Californians, who get most of their news from comedy shows agree.
October 2003
Arnold Schwarzenegger® wins -- triggering celebration by comedians everywhere. Gray Davis, donning a cheap Austrian accent reacts to his loss by saying "I'll be back."
Pope John Paul celebrates his 25th year of popedom as the Episcopalians announce the consecration of Reverend Gene Robinson as the first openly gay Bishop. Pope John Paul objects to the word "open" and asserts that homosexuals should not use condoms either.
November 2003
Michael Jackson® is photographed and fingerprinted by Santa Barbara Police. He is charged with engaging in lewd and lascivious conduct with a child under the age of 14. The minor, whose identity is not being disclosed, stands to recover millions in a civil suit against Jackson (45).
Meanwhile, teenager Lee Boyd Malvo is convicted of murder in the DC sniper case. Though only fourteen at the time that he began his sniper training under the tutelage of forty-five year old John Mohamed , Malvo was found guilty by the Virginia jury. Now just who got fucked here?
December 2003
Saddam Hussein is captured by Kurdish soldiers and placed in a below ground cell until turned over to American officials. Americans, encouraged by the success of the movie "Saving Private
Lynch," announce "We Got Him."
Footage of Saddam being checked for lice is put on auto repeat on all televisions across the world for the following two weeks. Ratings soar. CNN announces it will go to all-Saddam's-head-lice-all-the-time. Four other news stations follow suit.
Now that Saddam is in custody, George W Bush announces the war crimes "trial" will take place as far away from the United States as possible - and will not be covered by the news media at all -and suggests that any coverage of Saddam's trial should run side by side and concurrent with the Michael Jackson trial in the hopes of deflecting attention from anything the dictator may reveal about his relationship with the United States and/or Dick Cheney over the past two and a half decades.
These plans are scrapped when an earthquake in Iran kills 50,000 prompting defense secretary Donald Rumsfeld to claim that Saddam's "secret earthquake machine" is implanted in the former dictator's frontal lobe and the only hope for world peace is to give him an immediate lobotomy.
Michael Jackson complains, "What was I arrested for?"
The Jury is still out.
**********
Well, folks - thanks for a wonderful year! We hope to see you out on the road! Anne and I clocked in at over 200 shows in 2003! We are both hoping for our own sanity that we will get that number down in 2004! So here is hoping that everyone works less and makes more in 2004.
February 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
February 2004
Volume 5 Issue 6
By: Chris Chandler
Greenville, SC
It's that time of the month again. You go to South Carolina in February in an election year and you'd think you were still in D.C. It's the only time of year you when we see the rich so desperate to shake hands with the poor. (John Kerry washed his hands afterward – but that's a different story) It's nice to be a little farther south - it is cold in our nation's capital!
It's so cold you have to put things in the refrigerator to thaw them out (rim shot please). That's why Feeney and Chandler are headed to… (cymbal crash please) Canada!
Most people think of winter as merely a frozen period. The poets draw metaphors of death – the withering away of life, moving on from the autumn years into your inevitable demise. Damn poets! Damn the poets, full steam ahead! Why do they do that?
I mean yes, it is winter and yes, I did turn forty this month, but it was also in the winter that I turned six. When I turned thirty I shaved my head for the first time. At forty, I have just shaved it for the last time (really). This way, whenever someone shows me a picture of myself – like when I'm old or something – I will have hard evidence as to which decade it was taken. And besides, in the decade since I first shaved my head every poseur in America has now shaved his. Montel Williams, Michael Stipe, G Gordon Liddy, Jessie "The Body Formerly Known as Governor" Ventura, that big guy from American Idol…
(I actually saw this man sing "Sweet Home Alabama" – a large bald black man singing Lynyrd Skynyrd … now that's entertainment, folks, but I digress.)
… Paul Shaffer has a bald head. Fer chrissakes, Bruce Willis has a bald head. AHHHH! Let me out of here. That's it. I am done. Isn't there something in the Geneva Convention about this? I have the same hairstyle as Bruce Willis! And besides, having a bald head in winter sucks!
Growing up in Georgia, I always wished it would snow more, because snow makes your weed-infested junkyard look just as nice as your Presbyterian neighbor's manicured fescue. And as my favorite poet, e.e. cummings, said, "The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches." I always liked that about winter.
Winter is something you can feel in your bones. It makes us aware of our skeletal structure as it strips the trees of summer, allowing us to behold the bones of the earth. We see her landscapes without her gaudy gardenias and great green summer trees, her trendy autumn scarves, or her whorey spring negligees of tulips and bumblebees.
We see the earth naked – as we see our lover the next morning. Make-up kissed away. The low slant of winter's morning light reveals the angles of her jaw line. Down comforters and a sluggish sunrise let us stay in bed a little longer as we look within.
Some creatures hibernate. For them, winter is gone in a flash – but it is the cold of winter that gives them the strength to make it through the rest of the coldhearted year.
"April is the cruelest month." – T. S. Elliot
It is winter that taught the ant generosity and the grasshopper responsibility. OK, OK: in the original, the ant ate the grasshopper over the long cold winter – but I bet the grasshopper learned his lesson.
Last month I started with a George Santayana quote, so let me use another now: "To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring."
Perhaps there is a reason that so many people could not start a conversation with a stranger if it were not for the weather. God bless the winter, for it is both an end and a beginning. It is something that brings us to praise the hard yellow warmth of chimneys, gather in tighter circles to hear the tales of the harsher seasons – until the snow melts, when we can venture out into the severity of spring armed with fresh vim to conquer the oncoming year.
And what a year it is going to be to conquer! The primaries, the general election, and most important: getting Forest W. Gump and his gang of thugs in suits out of office! If you are not registered, let me make it easy for you. Click here: https://www.workingforchange.com
Yes, what a year it is going to be to conquer! Anne and I will be taking some time off after our Florida tour. Anne is having some surgery, which will require her to take some recovery time. On March 18, she will have a growth excised from her right lung. We hope all these years of raising her voice have left her with oversized lungs so that she'll hardly miss the lobe that they plan to remove. We will be canceling some dates in the Midwest – though we don't yet know how many and which ones. You can send personal well-wishes by replying to this newsletter.
Until then, if you pray, I ask for your prayers. If not, I ask for your kind wishes. If you don't pray or wish, I ask for your caring thoughts. If you don't pray or wish or think, don't bother…anybody.
March 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
March 4th, 2004 (The only date that is a sentence)
San Diego, CA, I mean Los Angeles, CA, I mean… Phoenix, AZ, I mean Washington, DC, I mean that Auto Towing "Service" on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I mean Pittsburgh, PA; I mean Orlando, FL; I mean Tallahassee, FL; I mean Pensacola, FL.
OK Pensacola FL.
These are all places I have been in the past, ohh, 72 hours. (really) My sweet Chevy pick-up truck now sits, lonesome and forlorn in a creepy auto shop run by inbreds who must be related to the turnpike commissioner… they have the exclusive right to tow any vehicles-in-distress from the turnpike – then charge $15 a day storage. She needs a new engine! My truck doesn't have health care either. Couple all of this craziness with the roller coaster of pending life and death surgery of my music partner and one begins to develop a sense of place in this life on the road.
But hey, if life were easy – everybody would be having one.
So let me actually begin this newsletter where I usually begin…
Hey everybody, it's that time of the month again. Sorry I am late getting this out but it is leap year after all – and I guess I got a little carried away with the notion… if this were the 33rd of February (as it *should* be!) I would be right on time!
But there are not 33 days in February – she has been robbed from more times than the Safeway health care plan.
Poor February – she gets no respect… For example when Augustus Caesar rose to power he was jealous that Julius "July like a Dog" Caesar got his own month named after HIM. so Augustus changed the name of the
month formerly known as "Shemp" to you guessed it... August. But then he found out July had 31 days in it, he stole a day from poor old February to keep pace with the Caesars.
No – he couldn't take a day from some month his own size. And besides – everyone went along with this idea because there were intelligence reports at the time that February had weapons of mass destruction hidden somewhere near Valentines day. People bought it and now – we have this tiny little short month that no one respects and is so snubbed it even has to be called black history month – can't be spending too many days learning about the folks that gave us…. well… civilization.
Anyway, I am digressing here… you may notice that I am writing about February when it is in fact March. But I can't write about March yet – it hasn't happened yet – well this year anyway…
It is a leap year and the fact that human beings have even figured out how to have them is remarkable enough… Hell, February 29th cost poor old Roger Bacon his life back in the unlucky 13th century. (which also had a Friday the 13th BTW) He noticed that a year had a little less than the 365 and ¼ days that the Pope had said.
People claimed the Pope was short changing them. Their lives were shorter than they had originally thought. There were riots because someone claimed the leader of the "free world" could be wrong about something. The claim cost him his life. The claim was true. That could never happen now.
Everything about this leap year is remarkable… It's the great leap forward in the year of the monkey. We had a Friday the 13th this month, too. Usually when that happens in February ya get a Friday the 13th in March too – but not this year.
This marvel only happens once every 28 years. Dog knows how often it happens in the year of the monkey – I think it only happens as often as the children of the ultra elite get drafted. This could be our year. One thing is for sure though: change is afoot – give it a hand. .
I mean not only are we going to boot Forest W Gump – the man born with a silver spoon in his nose - out of office but along with him: Joesph W McAshcroft, Colin W. Mc Namara, and Condaleeza W. Theron.
With a little luck, Kenneth W Lay will be wearing matching orange jumps suits with Dick W Cheney and being served bread and water, pleasingly presented on a stylish stainless steel tray by Martha W Stewart.
Or maybe, Li'l W will have to make up for his lost military service – by personally manning a checkpoint in Tikrit.
Good things do happen – But we do have to wish them to be so. So thank you for dreaming with me folks.
This is not just a leap year it is a leap year in the year of the monkey. So, John Kerry may choose Lloyd Bentsen as a running mate – he could win anyway. Really. I have just cast my absentee ballot in the Florida primary – Dennis just might win his first… OK, that's a bit of a stretch…
But think about it – amazing things do happen.
Anne's tumor has shrunk.
If she had listened to her surgeon – she would have had a lobe of her lung removed back in January. But no – she wanted to make one more trip around the country to see all of you. And apparently all of you wanted her to keep coming back. Like leap year. Someone like Anne comes round as rarely as leap year in the year of the monkey.
I am thankful to have been her musical partner during the Bush years. Personally, I look forward to retiring our Bush repertoire come November.
Till then… Those of you praying for miracles may now direct your prayers to the upcoming election!
April 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
Volume 5 Issue 8
Washington, DC
04-04-04
It's that time of the month again. This month's newsletter is brought to you by the number 4. After all, it is 4-4-4. How often does that happen? It is also 4 in the morning – only it's really 5, cause we were supposed to change our clocks – the way we did with our calendars when George Bush became president. OK, everybody, let's flip our calendars back to the thirteenth century.
Speaking of the number 4 and calendars - four is the number of years Anne Feeney and I have worked together – which is longer than I have worked with any other musician. She came down to Florida, where I was living, as the last of the dangling chads were being counted. I can't think of anyone I would have rather spent the Bush years with.
But as Anne has been granted a new lease on life – the confetti is still falling from her fabulous prognosis – she has decided to pursue other options. This summer will be our last West Coast tour together, the rally to close the School of the Americas our last show. December of 2000 through November of 2004. Four years.
So I will be looking for my fourth musical partner and will also be doing some solo shows in the near future. If any of you have any thoughts on this or want to volunteer – please drop me a line.
Also, if you were thinking about booking Anne and me as a duo – do so FOURthwith.
For we are looking FOURward.
Yes, the number 4…
The first non-prime number (unless you count – well… negative 4). It is not only 2 + 2 but it is also 2 x 2, and only the elephant has four knees (really). The count on Sesame Street has only four fingers - which continues to confuse me.
The number 4 has been very good to us.
The Fab Four, four-letter words, four-wheel drive, four on the floor, the Final Four, the four seasons. (Kinda scary when ya put those two together, huh?)
The four corners of the Earth, four bits, four-color printing, the four spiritual laws, a four-poster bed, foreplay, next year's Superbowl® halftime show: a foursome with Britney Spears, Madonna, Paris Hilton, and Janet Jackson. Foreskin.
Four of a kind, the four-leaf clover, foursquare, the Fourth of July, "Four score and seven years ago today, our forefathers..." Hey, wait a second… I'm from the South and all, but even I didn't have four fathers…
The Gang of Four, four walls, the fourth dimension, four eyes (There is a business that peppers the strip malls of fat America that sells eyewear, called "For Eyes." Can you imagine working there and having to answer the phone with an insult to your customers? "Hello, FOUR EYES.")
Four-legged animals, the four elements, the four directions, the four evangelists - Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse – Condoleezza, Colin, Donald, and John. (Dick and George aren't really horsemen. George is from Texas but can't ride a horse. Cheney is Satan, and George is Satan's little helper.)
Nonetheless, I say: Vote for Bush and Cheney -- why change horsemen mid-apocalypse?
After all, four is the number of years George Bush will be in office. Also, it is the number of years his daddy was in office. That reminds me… The only other father/son president team – the Adams Family - had the same name, separated by an odd letter (George Bush and George W Bush, John Adams and John Q Adams). The father was elected in one century, the son in the next. They were both separated by Jeffersons (Thomas Jefferson and William Jefferson Clinton), but most important, they are both one termers!!
Yet I have a foreboding forecast that if we do not fordo Bush's force, the United States will be foreclosed.
We have already forfeited the rights our forefathers gave to us.
So, I forewarn: If we do not fortify our ranks and form a forward forum, we will keep getting fornicated, forever. I foretell it!
This fourth day of the fourth month of the fourth year.
This newsletter has been brought to you by the number four.
May the fourth be with you.
MAY 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h I r l e d R e t o r t
Hey Everybody,
It's well… past that time of the month already and this will be a short one. Not that I don't have tons to talk about--it's just that time is short… Actually, time is the same as it has been since it was conceived of, but hey – what I'm trying to say here is - I'm busy.
If life were easy, everybody would be having one. The big news this month is Anne Feeney's stunning performance at the March for Women's Lives! WOW! A million and a half people! And that's just the ones who raised their hands when they did the head count. Some of them had to be in the bathroom at the time. I have never seen so manyJohnny-On-The-Spots.
What a thrill it was to see Anne's smiling face on the Jumbotron where it belongs. If you would like to read her account of how it all went down just click on http://www.annefeeney.com
So what's goin' on out there?
I see the Iraqi Governing Council (AKA: The Council on creating the 51st state) took a cue from my home state of Georgia and proposed a new flag. (Georgia has changed her flags so many times in the past few years, you'd think we belonged to the former Soviet Union, not the former Confederacy.)
But frankly, I think this whole Iraqi flag thing is a ploy for a new theme park--they will change it a few more times before it is over just so we can open Six Flags Over Fallujah.
And what is with the Israeli-colored symbol? Hell, it's been 15 years since I went to art school, but I coulda predicted that one. Did they hold a contest? Is there a pack of matches out there that says "Can you draw this flag?"
I think as part of the new West Bank settlement agreement, the Israelis should agree to fly a flag with a crescent moon. Maybe a hammer and sickle, an upside-down pentagram, Mickey Mouse ears...…Hell, why not just be honest and emblazon the Halliburton logo across the damn thing?
What were they thinking?
I have an idea – let's torture the private citizenry (AKA detainees) on national television (I am waiting for fear factor Iraq myself) and then change the flag so they can rally behind the old one.
And where is our new (clear throat) hero: John Kerry? Why can't he go out on the white house lawn with a metal detector, find his old medals, pin em to his chest and say, "We made a big mistake here – you can have your country back. Sorry about that, I mean Sadam was a bastard and all – but he's been arrested now – and you can try him. But do us a favor, since he's libel to talk during his trial about his real relationship with us – could ya have his trial at the same time as say – Michael Jackson?"
But anyway, I'll just wrap it up here--and say Anne and I plan to be at Kerrville and the OregonCountry Fair as usual, as well as High Sierra and the School of the Americas Watch. But if you wantto book a show with us, you need to do it soon!
I am working on a new show with a new musical partner, Joana Smith. She is from Boston, a Kerrville New Folk finalist, and a major talent. Thank you to all of you who wrote to me asking about future projects.Joana volunteered to try and fill Anne's tremendous shoes ("It takes a five-dollar foot to fill her shoes lord lord--and I ain't gonna be treated this a-way").
She wrote to me claiming to already own all my albums. My mother doesn't even own all my albums. Hell, I don't even own them all! She started saying she wanted to do songs like "Embryonic Citizenship" and "Republican Woodstock" ("By the time we got to Riyadh we were half a million strong"--that line, of course was written for Oil War I. It's kind of funny: If the first oil war was Republican Woodstock, then the second one seems to be the Woodstock Reunion… but I digress.)
I figured just because she knew those titles deserved a trip to Boston and when I got there she already had half my repertoire memorized. How could I say no?We gave our act a test flight at Capo's in Lowell with my good friend Jim Infantino and plan to debut it down in DC at the Electric Maid.
You see, I am now renting some [clear throat] office space in thePeople's Republic of Takoma Park in a new arts space called yes the Electric Maid. When the cosmic Rubik/s Cube twisted and it turned out Joanna would be down in DC, I figured, Why not have an office warming/new show debut? So that's what we're doing!
JUNE 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
Hey Everybody-- It's that time of the month again... Actually, it's that time of the year again... It's Kerrville, where the festival rises like Brigadoon from the parched live oaks of the Hill Country, fueled by the joyous anarchy of the staff volunteers. If you've never seen this volunteer crew, you should.
Not your typical assortment of middle aged folkies with flowered skirts and masters' degrees. People come to this festival from all walks of life... astronauts (really), accountants, gypsies, gardeners (*all* cash crops), bottom feeders, wanderers, asphalt nomads, troubadours, electricians, carpenters, CEOs and DUIs show up in time for work weekends and then Land Rush (now the kinder, gentler 'settlement weekend' under the tenure of the talented Dalis Allen) ... digging ditches, wiring, trimming, plumbing, pruning and most important, pouring beer...
Oh, the music is good too.
By the eighteenth day -- we're all coated in kalichi dust, dining at the staff kitchen on donated food, nursing various stages of romance, sunburn and dehydration, refreshed, renewed and filled with dreams. About the only way to distinguish rich from poor is by the dental plan.
In this moment, (I am not making this up) we are in the Butt Holdsworth Library. (this is a very difficult location to seek directions to by yelling out the car window ... by the time we've finished calling 'do you know where the Butt Hold??..' they've already turned their backs)
We are taking a well needed rest ... life on the Quiet Valley Ranch makes the immense problems of the world seem distant. Anne and I are enjoying the company of the many dear friends we have made at this
festival over the years, and enjoying each others' talents as we recharge ourselves for the final lap of the "Anybody But Bush" tour. This will be a short newsletter. We are looking forward to retiring this Bush-bashing repertoire on November 3rd when W begins packing for Crawford.
We hate to return him to this Lone Star State that we have come to love so much, but hey, you elected him the first time, so I guess you have to keep him. In order to get rid of him it's going to take every one of us... we could really use all the help you can muster for this tour... please send all your friends and relations to our shows -- especially that Republican uncle. And now back to the ranch.
JULY 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
Volume 5 issue 11
San Francisco, CA
June 28, 2004
Volume 5 issue 10
Hey everybody, it's that time of the month again. I decided to send it out a little early this month due to the fact that this exciting version of the Anyone But Bush Tour -- begins on June 30th here in San Francisco.
To help us celebrate we have brought along our old friend and former band mate of mine Oliver Steck (The band Avoiding Godot). He is our secret weapon of mass dysfunction. If ya know him you ya know why it was simply a no brainer when he said he wanted to join us for this leg. He is simply the world's greatest accordion player, trumpet player, physical comedian and auto mechanic.
The three of us just arrived here in San Francisco from different places. Me, I flew in from Pittsburgh after driving there from DC to cram three weeks of camping gear, microphones and CDs into two suitcases that pass the homeland security act. It was has been quite a challenge!
But not as much as simply piloting the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Sheez -when I handed them my ticket at the toll booth -- I fully expected to be rewarded a cash prize just for navigating the 300 mile construction zone successfully. It should be a negative toll. I at least feel like my insurance company should give me a discount.
"Let's see, Mr. Chandler, I see you have a good driving record, not wanted for any felonies, managed to drive over a million miles without a ticket - however, have you ever driven on the Pennsylvania Turnpike??"
"Yes, sir."
"Without an accident??"
"Yes, sir." Balloons fall from the ceiling, a mariachi band rises from the floor. Ed McMahon knocks at the door - carrying a gecko. I just got a great deal on auto insurance.
Coupled with the dangers of the highway I found myself in late June driving through a Christmas display of fireflies.
They were everywhere! Harder to avoid than the deer.
Knowing I am about to go bang my head against the leaning tower of public opinion and driving through a psychedelic light show that resembles viewing the city of Dallas from outer space somehow seems appropriate. Now bear with me here a second -
I remember as a kid catching lightning bugs in a mayonnaise jar and poking the tin lid with an ice pick.
As my childhood memories of fireflies flashed before me so were oncoming headlights and blinking yellow construction hazards.
Some lightning bugs continue to glow as they smeared across the glass.
I remembered as a kid watching them die inside the mayonnaise jar.
I think back to the last time I was in Pittsburgh back in March. Out of wrought, I walked down to my favorite little Irish bar to sit and write.
Usually this is a quiet Irish bar where I drink Jameson's and scribble silently until I have hallucinations of being Dylan Thomas. But on this - St Patrick's Day weekend - my sweet little retreat has hired of all things a Karaoke DJ. A sign on the door announces that "ladies drink for free."
The funny thing about fireflies is that it is only the male that flickers. They do this in the hopes of attracting a female.
I think about the poor virgins that hit my windshield.
If no female firefly can be found males will join forces and begin to blink in unison in hopes that their combined brilliance will pierce the sultry southern air and reach the heart (or at least the thorax) of their beloved.
At the bar in Pittsburgh, barflies are garnished in blinking green shamrocks and unbearable green paper hats, yet I cannot break from my own tradition. After all, I came here to write and this is what is happening. I order a green beer, accept my own blinking shamrock, and find the only open table.
Familiar acoustic guitar chords leak from the sound system as the Karaoke DJ rummages for a potential participant.
I wonder, what do fireflies think as they enliven their luminous bodies, captive in a world beyond their own making?? Do they dream of trying to pick them selves up by their tiny little bootstraps as they slide down the glass?? I get into an argument with a libertarian who is saying that the poor deserve what they get and they should pick themselves up by their bootstraps.
A single firefly escapes the windshield of my car and burns in a rhythm all his own.
One lone brave soul steps to the karaoke microphone to intone the ubiquitous. "On a dark desert highway - Cool wind in my hair..."
Other lightning bugs announce their presence - one - then the other - and then - some unseen force makes two of them blink together -- just once.
Someone at the table next to me mutters beneath his breath "Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light..."
Strangers saunter in and join in the chorus "Welcome to the Hotel California." Once-hollow eyes gleam like fireflies piercing a once sullen darkness.
The libertarian fumbles for change to buy another green beer and I pick up his tab singing, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969."
He continues his argument making reference to Rosa Parks and how it is the individual that is at the heart of settling the world's tribulations. I think of the armies of others working in solidarity with her and say if you believe a middle aged cleaning woman from Montgomery Alabama single-handedly started the civil rights movement than you probably also believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.
Strangers clink glasses - and swear undying friendship - bound by lyrics inscribed upon our psyche by the tattoo needles of elevators, and grocery store ambiance.
It occurs to me that the reason some people want us poor folks to pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps is to get us to bend over.
The highway looks as if it were webbed by a single strand of Christmas lights -- dazzling in harmony, blinking as one - while a thousand car radios are tuned to Rush Limbaugh - ironically spewing "The poor should pull themselves up by their bootstraps."
The whole bar sings together. "There is plenty of room here at the Hotel California!"
Aware of my own awkwardness in accepting the fact that such an absurd pop song has captured the zeitgeist of my generation; too wrapped up in the beauty, danger, tragedy, magnificence and irony of the group experience to care - I strike my cigarette lighter and hold it in the air.
Others follow suit.
Cigarette lighters slice open the darkness, like fireflies which take me back to a childhood of being humbled that such majesty cannot be controlled. We, like fireflies, are greater as a collective, as a whole - as a union - than we could ever be alone.
I, as a child, unlock the mayonnaise jar prison and the captive fantastic are set free.
The song ends. The applause erupts - spontaneous cacophony which quickly evolves into uniform blasts of simultaneous rhythmic rifle fire. Its pace quickens. Soon everyone in the room is clapping in unison - and then - as if prompted by a higher unseen being - sways in unison.
Strangers link arms. Some go home together.
Darkness descends as one by one each solitary sparkle is extinguished.
But in that darkness a new generation of fireflies is created....
My friends, if we are to take down this administration, we all need to link arms, burn like fireflies and try to avoiding hitting the front windshield of the oncoming truck!
AUGUST 2004
Hey everybody, it's that time of the month again! The dawg days of August are barking. The city of DC is empty (so what's new.) She is much like New Orleans in that regard - I guess everyone goes to cooler climates for summer vacation. But not me - I head uh... south.
Anne and I are taking a couple of days between trips to the west coast.
Our last trip with Oliver Steck was a blast! He is unsurpassed as a player, comedian, and real life road warrior - the best sideman ever! Ahhh, I will miss him rolling across the stage - and stage diving at house concerts. But it was great to be - albeit for a brief period - Chandler Anne and Ollie.
I know a bunch of you are wondering if we were at the DNC in Boston or going to be in New York for the RNC. Well, the short answer is "no".
Yea, we got some offers to play - but it seems everybody is looking for a political act that works for free. It is certainly not money that motivates us to keep this act rolling down a VERY different
campaign trail.
But sometimes, I do ask myself, 'Why do I do this?' And sometimes life resembles - well… life.
Life - where you find your answers in the strangest places… Like the time I found my virginity on the internet. Ok - It wasn't MY virginity - and I only went to that website because I had misread the Spam.
Or even more unlikely than the internet - I found my answer watching the DNC. I watched it from a tiny TV in DC. One with rabbit ears encased in tin foil and poorer reception than Al Gore. I must say I did enjoy watching it. Me and my friends formed a little drinking game where every time John Edwards gave us that stupid Fonzie thumbs up you had to take a shot. Needless to slur we little got all a drunk.
Thank God we didn't play the game as originally suggested - you had to take one every time democrat used the word "stronger" Jeeze... I'd still be drunk.
Nonetheless - it was on that tiny TV that I may have found my answer. Between shots, I found myself listening closely to Al Sharpton's speech - which was difficult to do if you were watching on network TV - with the rabbit ears and all - because every coupla seconds Sam Donaldson or Ted Koppel or somebody would try to sound important - and I couldn't help thinking - "Hey, get your own election."
In fact none of the major stations ran his speech uninterrupted -- they had to keep saying, "uh-oh - he's off message!" – "he's off script – we don't know what's gonna happen." - Oh my God someone who can speak off the top of his head. Quick – cut to commercial – he's liable to go all Janet Jackson on us!
Well, I got online the next day and found his speech and I'd like to share a sweet little
section from his speech – because I think it gives me some arrows towards some of my answers. Rev Sharpton said, "As you know, I live in New York. I was there September 11th when that despicable act of terrorism happened. A few days after, I had to do a radio show. When I got there, my friend James Entome said, 'Reverend,
we're going to stop at a certain hour and play a song, synchronized with 990 other stations. We're dedicating it to the victims of 9/11.'"
"I said, 'What song are you playing?'" He said, 'America the Beautiful.'" The particular station I was at played the rendition of the song by Ray Charles.
"As you know, we lost Ray a few weeks ago, but I sat there that morning and listened to Ray sing through those speakers, 'Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountains' majesty above the fruited plain' -- It occurred to me as I heard Ray singing, that Ray wasn't singing about what he knew, because Ray had been blind since he was a child. He hadn't seen any purple mountains. He hadn't seen any fruited plains. He was singing about what he believed it to be."
Which is exactly why Anne and I drive past amber waves of grain, over purple mountain majesties, why we fly through spacious skies, above the fruited plain just to play on picket lines and at demonstrations. People pouring their hearts and souls into their communities and families – not for purposes of a capital gain – but because it is the right thing to do and it makes us a great nation in spite of the horrific deeds others do in our name. Our greatness is there – even when it is not apparent. These days it seems so far from apparent we may
need to occasionally be reminded of it.
My love for this country is like the moon - not because it comes and it goes, but because it is there when it does not show. Everyday, out on the road I see the hard work that many of you are doing out there and know you do it out of faith and principle, conviction and ideals. But these times are so absurd that both sides of this deeply divided country have lost their sense of absurdity. And if there is anything that is truly ridiculous is a humorless people in ludicrous times.
Andrew Boyd (aka Phil T. Rich) and his cohorts are performing marvelous mischief with the "Billionaires for Bush" campaign. The "Billionaires" travel to whereever our appointed leader is speaking and dress as costumed billionaires with names like Hiram Overseas. They thank the Bush supporters for paying taxes so they don't have to. You get the set up – use your imagination for the rest.
But in Pittsburgh yesterday, a Bush supporter pushing a baby carriage started screaming "You assholes!" before physically tearing the sign out of one of the costumed "Billionaires for Bush." How's that for 'family values'? I hope the baby was napping!
But it's not just the Bush fans who have lost their sense of humor. Across the street a dreadlocked anarchist shouted the billionaires down with a bullhorn – just as the TV crews were picking up on the joke.
Barry Crimmins was asked "if you don't love this country - why don't you leave it?" He quipped," because I don't want to be victimized by its foreign policy."
Sometimes it looks like pitiful crowded skies and amber waves of genetically modified grain, cinderblock mountains and the International House of Pancake's fruited-plains-flavored pancake syrup.
I say America, America, shed your grace - NO, OUR GRACE - on thee! And crown thy good with brotherhood from the Atlantic Ocean to the Persian freaking Gulf.
Sure sometimes I see only Mount Office Depot, rivers of asphalt, the great rapids of the Mighty Pennsylvania Turnpike and the concrete glaciers of middle America cutting a swath through to the fruited plains faster, deeper and more permanent than any ice age.
Sometimes I think if the universe could think (which I am agnostic enough to believe it just might)the world might think of today as its dark years - The Human Years. Does the world look forward to another ice age - so it can get rid of us – shed us like a bad case of lice? Do other worlds look at our world and think `Oh, poor earth - she's going through her human years.'
Sure, sometimes I sing "Route 66":
It winds from Chicago to LA
more than three thousand malls along the way…
Get your kicks on Route six-six-six...
A Wallmart in St Louie
big as Missouri
Kentucky Fried Chicken is Oh So sickening
You'll see Amoco
K-Mart, New Mexico
Pepsi Cola, Arizona
Don't forget Ramada
Burger King, Kinko's, What's-a-Frapacino?
But other times I roam and I ramble and follow my footsteps down the ribbon of highway I see above me an endless skyway and I see below me a golden valley… …And it reminds me that life is sweet - unless you don't want it to be - and as any good southerner who has ever ordered iced tea knows: for that you gotta make a special request.
SEPTEMBER
Hey everybody, it's that time of the month again.
The Republicans are holding their convention in New York City – the richest people in the richest nation in the world waving signs printed and stapled by the poorest people in the poorest countries. They're also passing out plastic statues of Bill and Hillary that are chewable dog toys (made in China) and band-aids with purple hearts on
them (made in China).
Can we count the ways that is insulting? To every one BUT John Kerry.
At least the conventions have been good for creative drinking games.
This time we drew little slips of paper from a hat with phrases like "September 11," or "every time the crowd chants, `USA USA USA'" and "anytime the camera pans to the one African American wearing a cowboy hat." The person who got the drunkest was the one who drew the dreaded, "any time the crowd starts doing `the wave'
shouting 'flip flop flip flop.'"
Just think of the small children in Taipei working overtime to crank out all those pairs of flip flops.
The thing about flip-flopping that gets me is the fact that the man trumpeting the charge the loudest is the great turn coat himself - Zell Miller!? This is a guy I once voted for governor! He gave the key note for both Bill Clinton and George W Bush. And this is the guy they roll out to cry "Flip Flop Flip Flop." As a Georgian I resent this! The more people change the more they remain – insane.
As for the accuracy of your charges, Zell, it's like Albert Einstein said, "If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts."
Personally, I don't understand all the cries of flip flop – Jeeze anyone who has been in office as long as Kerry should have changed his mind a few times. Come-on – this attack is coming from a guy who first held office in 1995. I like people who change their minds. Well, now that I think about it maybe I don't. OK, yes, I do.
George has not held office long enough to have his handlers tell him to change his mind. And Yes, I respect a man who joins the service, goes over – begins to put two and two together and says – "NO, I WAS WRONG!"
George and Dick had no chance to change their minds about the Vietnam War – because the only question in their mind was which is the best way to get out of it. Dick Cheney and George W Bush attacking a war hero for HIS service record.
Talk about the pot calling the kettle an African American.
We couldn't take it. Anne and I decided to visit the kinder gentler land to the north. Made sense to me. As much as we would like to be among the thousands being arrested for walking down the sidewalk – it just reminded me too much of the mid 90's in New York when `Ghoul-e-ani,' would have you arrested for not possessing an ATM card. Now, that he's `Sir Rudy' all ya gotta do is hum the words to a David Rovics song and it's off to the slammer whether you posses an ATM card or not.
I miss the days when Arnold Schwarzeneggar was a forgotten action figure (like Big Jim with Kung-Fu grip, or Action Jackson or Major Matt Mason.) Dick Cheney was laying pipe lines in his head and Liddy Dole was merely the recipient of her husband's Viagra royalties.
Our country is deeply divided. The walls around the gated communities are higher and the security scrutiny required to land even the most menial jobs from the rich is more invasive than ever. Neal Bush's Mexican cleaning lady has to bend over for a cavity search to show what's up her butt before she can clean HIS toilet. BTW why haven't we seen Neal at the convention. Anyone remember Billy Carter or Roger Clinton?
One sees the divisions everywhere. In architecture and ideals. Composition and what passes for compassion.
Earlier this month I found myself in the fair city of Winston-Salem, NC. Her downtown – which was built largely in the late nineties into the twenties while largely abandoned remains gorgeous in its decay. The only place we found open to have drinks in was beautiful 1910 building – the bartender told us that the land lord didn't even charge them rent – only a percentage of profits in the hopes that the bar would stay. Some business is better than none. Most of downtown is host to for rent signs, check-cashing joints and store-front windows covered in plywood. Even the pawn shops have gone out of business.
While the Armageddon ambiance does have a foreboding feel, you can't help feel the remaining beauty still breathing in the buildings. It's bonneted cupolas and Palladian windows flanked by pilasters and framed by marble dentals – leave one at least feeling there is potential to restore. The foundation is still there.
The source of the vacuum downtown is much like it is all over America: the republican suburbs just suck so hard. Much of Winston Salem was ringed in Reagan's go-go 80's by strip malls – which are now also largely abandoned – but abandoned strip malls do not hold up well.
I found myself on one of those four lanes highways that continue to connect the vacant strip malls. There was an ancient goofy golf course busy returning to its natural state. Giraffes and elephants stood peeking their plastic heads from the encroaching forest. The republican elephant looks natural smirking in its decaying surroundings. As if he were saying, I'm still standing tall and doing fine – who cares about the cracked sidewalks and rotting
windmill.
Anne and I found ourselves in another one of those parking lots that blanket the United States of Generica – divided islands, slanted parking spaces and freshly painted asphalt – the ones that take up more land area than the Home Depots, Fuddrucker's and Cellular One shops that they are supposed to service.
As I was pulling out of a parking lot on to a main thoroughfare. A passing driver flipped me the bird. A couple car horns blared. Tires were squealing. News of the Republican National Convention was screaming on the radio. Then Anne shouts, "Chandler! You just drove through two enormous signs that said DO NOT ENTER--- what were you thinking?"
I replied in all seriousness, "I wasn't entering, I was exiting."
I hear the very valid complains about John Kerry and I think – I don't care. We are not entering the Kerry years as much as we are exiting the Bush years. I worry about a guy who would let George W Bush attack HIS service record. Jeeze, the guy can't duck a punch.
So sure, the world will be no more perfect with a new administration – no more than I was better off on the four lane
highway than I was in the Fuddrucker's parking lot – but at least that four lane highway had the potential to take me somewhere – and I knew for sure I was not going to be eating at Fuddrucker's.
OCTOBER 2004
T h e M u s e a n d W h i r l e d R e t o r t
Hey everybody! It's that time of the month again. This month's newsletter is being brought to you by the word "Public." Public has a lot of time on his hands these days. He's not doing a lot of the things he used to do. He used to be welcome almost anywhere, but now Public can't even go out in Public. Like his old buddy Liberal, he's become a dirty word. And Private, which used to be a dirty word, is more public than Public ever was.
I wanted to catch the game at a sports bar in Louisville last Sunday. Turned out Public Transportation was unavailable. That poor guy's had to fight to survive almost everywhere he's ever been. And before we can get used to him being around he's put on a private rail and run out of town.
I got a ride to a place called The Public Ale House. There was a sign on the door that said "No Public Restroom - for customers only." Recognizing the irony, I took a leak in the back alley – allowing my private moment to be a little more public. Now Public Restroom, that guy used to be everywhere! I'll be the first to admit that Public Restroom was always a bit of a slob, but when I really wanted to see him I didn't pay too much attention to his personal hygiene (though I often paid a little extra attention to mine after I left.)
As the game went into overtime I suddenly remembered that I was actually on the road and had a gig that night in Dayton... where was Anne? I had left my cell phone in her car, so I started looking for that most elusive gal... Public Phone. She used to get around. Now Public Phone, aka Southern Belle was a real floozy – Customers didn't
treat her very well – pounding on her just to get a couple quarters and even sticking foreign objects in her. She eventually quit working and a lot places just tossed her out.
So being in the middle of this "Music to Beat Bush By" tour with Dan Bern - it all began to make sense to me. If ever there was a reason to vote for John Kerry it is that in the one term of the Bush Administration we have seen the end to any thing public. Public phones, Public lands, Public squares, Public schools, Public Health - going going gone! In the next four years will be Public Libraries, Public Radio, Public discourse and Public Elections...and adios to the last pristine Public Land in the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve.
I even had to remove the links within this newsletter because there are so many corporate spam ads bouncing around that you can't even have a public newsletter anymore.
So, anyway I am watching the game… it's in one of those bars that has more TVs than George Bush has exit strategies. (incidentally I would rather have a guy who changes his mind often than a guy who sticks to one lie and keeps telling it so often people believe him, but I digress) There are all of these men hanging out with note pads and pencils, scribbling and talking on cell phones as they flip back and forth between games. Turns out they were not hard-core gamblers – no, they were taking part in this fad that is sweeping a large segment of the population: fantasy football - which is like Pokemon for grown men.
Ya see, in this game, you select - or draft - players and then develop their "power rating" depending on how that individual does in a given game. Much like Pokemon or even Dungeons and Dragons. I tried to draft Pichaku and Magikarp but the guys at the bar were not terribly amused.
So, I start thinking this is the problem here. Ya see, fantasy football is all about the individual. But football itself is a team sport. Attention on the individual is exactly what is wrong with us and exactly what has stripped us from the public institutions that made this country great. We are, after all, pack animals. All of this talk of the individual is exactly what we as the public should rise up against.
It's like we are living in a Lewis Carroll novel or something. Things that should be public have gone private and versa vice… Private Beaches? That should be Private Beee-uhtch, that gal won't let anyone near her! Our Public Squares – the gathering places of yore have become Strip Malls – which are PRIVATE property – so you can get arrested for wearing a T-Shirt that's says "Give Peace a Chance" – even if you bought it at the private mall. Our private parts have become part of a very public debate. Our private lives are being made public through everything from reality shows that invade our house (and either redecorate it, or clean it, or film us walking around in our underwear) to public demonstrations in front of private abortion clinics.
Speaking of public demonstrations… here in Washington DC they are quickly filling up so much of the public Mall with war memorials that ya can't have an anti war demonstration. I am waiting for the 40 story marble gas pump they plan to erect for this war. Draining our public resources to fund a war whose only success so far is furthering the private interests of Halliburton.
To avoid forcing a draft, much of the war in Iraq is being soldiered by "Private contractors" which is modern slang for mercenary – or Private Army.
All the while, there were no Weapons of Mass Destruction, there was no link to Al Qaeda. This is the Bush administration's Private War being waged on a very public lie. But the Public outcry? A million people on the streets in public protest will not be seen or heard by the actual public because they are cordoned off in some private "free speech Zone." Since when did free speech need a "zone"? ESPN needs a zone.
But what should be private – say building a baseball stadium here in Washington, DC for the migrating Montreal Expos – is being paid for with public funds. I wish they would call it "Taxpayer Stadium."
But it won't be, because the right to name the public stadium will be private.
They used to have a team here in DC - they were called the Washington Senators. Then they realized that the people (or Public if you will) of Washington, DC have no senatorial representation. Our license plates say "No Taxation without Representation." (really) Maybe they should call the new baseball team the Washington Disenfranchised or how `bout the Washington Lobbyists or the Washington Imperialists or if George could have his way, the Washington Monarchs.
I wish the teams were named for the corporations that own them. They could be the Home Depot Falcons. They could have corporate logos on their uniforms. Actually I wish politicians had to wear all the logos of their corporate contributors – they'd have to plaster little logos all over them selves, like NASCAR drivers.
Instead of that phony flight suit, George Bush should wear a little gas station attendant's outfit. He should start every speech with, "Can I check under the hood for ya?"
I say put the Public back in Public Funding and the Private back in Private Parts.
NOVEMBER 2004
Hey Everybody,
It's that time of the month again. I usually try to get this out on the first of the month - but with the election on the second I just decided to go ahead and get it out a few days late. Sure wish I had sent that "we're gonna win it!" missive on the first instead. Personally I find it hard to write today - especially write and be funny.
The truth is, I was so prepared to send out a giganto "Congratulations! We did it!" missive that when Armageddon
descended from Florida and landed in Ohio I was so demoralized that it took me a day or two to shake myself from the tar pits and get this letter out.
I think the creatures who survived the tar pits are the ones who were able to crack a joke about it. "Hey Triceratops, I'll bet ya a billion years from now there will be these crazy two legged creatures killing each other for the black liquid remains trapped in here."
"And they'll pay more than 2 bucks a gallon for it."
"Yea, and they will proclaim their village idiot as their leader too, right?"
"No way man, even we wouldn't do that - and we have a brain the size of a walnut."
"ummm… what's a walnut?"
Ya ever wake up one day and find your self dumped by your lover? You know deep in your heart that you were right - but she dumped ya anyway. You tried to compromise, but it just wasn't going to happen. That's kinda how I feel. Only in this particular twisted metaphor I'm not even sure who my lover was.
Was it John Kerry? He felt more like a blind date that I was willing to go out with for a short time at the behest of my friends. While it was not a particularly abusive relationship, he was just sort of uninspiring slow and due to one of his injuries in Vietnam he had a spinal cord transplant – but the only spinal cord doner they could find was a banana.
I was willing to overlook the flaws and continued to go out with him. He ended up dumping me for an SUV-driving security mommy and I am still hurt.
(You could say this election is a testament to how hated George Bush actually is. We ran a candidate that very few actually supported yet the election was still a virtual draw. Think about - easily 10 to 1 of the votes cast for John Kerry were actually votes against Bush. Now George Bush believes he has a mandate, but I digress)
Or was my lover the democratic party? I had believed that if we just got folks out to vote - we would win this thing. I even worked to register voters in Texas. I did get-out-the-vote shows in every swing state. I seduced the distant democratic party. But she remained cold and elusive. The more she ignored me - the more I wanted her. She embraced ideas I couldn't conceive of. I didn't care. I wanted her so badly. Every step she took away from me the
more I wanted her. It is true - guys will do ANYTHING as long as they think it's foreplay. But finally she cut me loose. And even though she did absolutely nothing for me - I still feel horrible with her gone.
Or was my lover the American people? Why did I think if only the American people would show up to vote I would get what I wanted? Why did I think it was *our* people who don't show up to vote? We had record turnouts. But look who turned out. The hairy knuckles crowd. The Pat Robertson crowd. The Dr Phil Crowd. The Big Looser ® crowd. The American People have spoken.
So long, I had wanted to hear her speak. The idea of her voice was erotic. It haunted me. But like a silent movie starlet, once her shrill screechy voice was heard – I never wanted to see her again. Why did I want her so badly?
But, regardless of how bad she was, I still feel abandoned. Scouring the newspaper for a new apartment, looking through the personal ads for a new lover, trying to take solace, like we all do at the end of a relationship, in the fact that maybe one day history will prove you right. Maybe in some future divorce court in the sky - I'll be able to get They Might be Giants records back. Only by then I will be more concerned with whether or not my harp is in tune.
There is small comfort in that, though. At least the Iraq debacle will wholly Mr. Bush's. He will own it. It is his mess. History will show what most of us all already know. He planned to invade that sovereign country (Evil as it was) long before September 11. He used our nation's tragedy to further his short-sighted goals. There was no connection between Iraq and Al Quaeda (at least before we invaded Iraq) There were no weapons of mass destruction. He lied about it. He was not given bad information. He was not misled - He lied. Yet "personal morals" was the top reason given for republican ballots cast.
Meanwhile eleven states passed anti-gay legislation. Here we are with millions jobless, social security on the ropes, record deficits, an illegal war and the pressing issue for these folks is men kissing other men. "Personal morals" has become short hand for "I hate faggots." Just like "those people" was civil rights era lingo for "nigger." Lets be straight about that. (no pun intended) You see a "protect the sanctity of marriage bumper sticker – you pull out your sharpie and scroll "This Car Belongs to a Bigot" across their windshield.
Besides, what do "the people" in Missouri know about gays? Gay couples in Missouri sure as hell aren't hanging out at the Jeff City courthouse waiting for a marriage license. They all went to New York or San Francisco ....... where an anti-gay measure could *never* pass... Ya see, where people actually KNOW gays and lesbians, they aren't afraid of them.
And as for all the so called Christian anti-gay sentiments that are flying around these days – and turned this election. The ONLY reference to homosexuality in the New Testament® was not the words of Christ – is was the words of Paul. And frankly, I have trouble with any anti-homosexual view point – written by a guy lying in a prison cell.
I only bring this up because the NPR pundits are now saying through self righteous underbites, "The democratic party has just lost sight of the core values of the American people. If they want to make progress they are just going to have to move further to the right."
If the democratic party moves any further to the right we'll be invading Canada by 2006.
I saw a map of "new Canada." It extended south from Quebec into Maine, New York, Pennsylvania and Maryland. Illinois Michigan Wisconsin and Minnesota. Then it continued along the 49th parallel but then south from British Columbia to Baja.
Now, I know this country is not just divided geographically. There are good people peppered throughout this great land of ours. We made our steps to meet the republicans in the middle. We were there. They moved the middle on us. I say, not one more step. In fact. Let us redefine the middle. They can come to us. Let George Bush have his debacle. If I sound rabid it is only because rabies shots are as scarce as flu shots under this administration.
He says, "Let the country heal." What he really means is, "Make the country heel."
