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This is too funny: Keith Olbermann’s point-by-point dissection of Condi Rice’s 42-word statement on Fox News Sunday the other day. Available in QuickTime, Windows Media, and a text transcription. Olbermann is kind of over the top, as usual, but when the Secretary of State makes a factual error with nearly every word, somebody needs to point it out.
Supposing that, after a long weekend of playing gigs and recording, a drummer loaded his drums out of the club into his car only to have one of the other musicians point out that his front tire was flat, which it hadn’t been only an hour before. Say it’s 1:30 in the morning, and incidentally snowing and raining, with wind gusts up to 20 or 30 mph. Just suppose.
Well, then suppose said drummer unloaded his equipment back onto the sidewalk in order to get to the spare tire compartment, struggled with the puny jack, got his hands and knees soaking wet and filthy, but indeed got the tire changed and the equipment (now thoroughly soaked) back in the car. Thinking the spare looked like it could use some air, he might head to the convenience store next door to air up the spare, only to have it continuously deflate so the last hundred feet to the air pump the car is obviously riding on the rim. One of the other band members has kindly offered to hang around in case the spare had problems, so they slowly drive back to the club parking lot and load the (soaking wet) drum equipment a third time, into the other’s SUV.
While we’re speculating here, suppose the club is about 30 miles from the drummer’s home, and after unloading the equipment the other musician mentions his girlfriend is out of town for the weekend and he’s got nothing to do; producing a small bottle of Jack Daniels from his jacket, he proposes listening to some tunes. The drummer, similarly having nothing else to do, and wishing to express some form of gratitude for the help, acquiesces. One might also speculate it has been one of “those” weekends at the club, in which people continuously buy shots for the band for unknown reasons. Unlike the drummer, the rest of the band can successfully drink and play at the same time, so they have not let said shots go to waste.
The drummer might think his friend is in a particularly good mood, and obligingly crank up iTunes, whereupon the other player might be, shall we say, somewhat gaga over the sound of his speakers in the carefully tuned room, especially when one turns up the volume. And then turns it up again. Sure, maybe a little more. Much listening to, and genuflecting before the genius of, the band XTC might logically ensue. The Jack Daniels and Boulevard Irish Ale might tend to disappear, as well as quantities of vodka and grapefruit juice from the drummer’s refrigerator. It even seems possible that a plate of nachos was involved. Suddenly, without warning, it might be 4:30 in the morning. A drummer would likely encourage his friend to go home and call him in the morning to arrange tire repair and transport back to his car.
Said phone call might materialize at 11:00 the next morning, although the other musician did not. A phone call by the drummer several hours later could elicit a tale of more genuflection, this time before a particular porcelain god. Faced with this situation, a drummer could conceivably begin racking his brain to think of people he might call out of the blue, people who might be willing to give up a chunk of their Sunday in order to help him out. One might say that if Gary Paredes were to be nominated for sainthood, it would not be looked upon unkindly in certain quarters around here.
It could be that things improved from there; that the Amoco station had someone available to repair the tire immediately, and that, though the weather was even colder and extremely windy, the tire was remounted without incident. One might say that a happy ending was achieved by late afternoon. Happy except for the pile of work that remains unaccomplished, forlorn and neglected upon the desk.
There’s been a large amount of speculation here. The question is, if a drummer were to go through all this, would he feel as if his whole body should be covered with the markings of tires such as might be found on large interstate trucks? Might his head hurt and his legs tremble? Might he be tempted to partake of the analgesic substances of his choice? Would the thought of doing anything at all productive be completely out of the question? Sadly, we’ll never know.
From a recording session last night:
Me (performing a complex edit in Pro Tools): Oh, shit. Undo, undo!
Client: What’s the matter?
Me: Oh, I’m an idiot.
Client (laughing): Well, that would explain it.
Me: That would explain a lot of things!
Remember this bit of dialogue from The Fellowship of the Ring?
Aragorn: Are you frightened?
Frodo (averting eyes): Yes.
Aragorn: Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you.
There’s an image to keep in mind as you read From the Wonderful Folks Who Brought You Iraq.
Just when I was beginning to hope Seymour M. Hersh was exaggerating….
After posting about something funny, it’s time to post about something not funny at all.
Reuters reports that Fox News has picked up two episodes of a new satirical show called The Half-Hour News Hour. Yes, it’s just as much a laff riot as the title suggests. Ahem. A-hem.
Okay, what I’ve seen is atrocious. Lines that should barely pass as an offhand quip are greeted by gales of laugh-track mirth. (Yes, it’s obviously a laugh track. Not only can you tell by the sound of the laughter, people just don’t react to ongoing humor by laughing the same way, exactly the same amount of time after each line. It’s as mechanical as the delivery of the jokes. And speaking of mechanical, if Reuters hadn’t said the anchors are comedians, I would have never known.)
See for yourself: Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter kick things off in a fantasy sequence as President and Vice President—with Coulter delivering the screamingly funny line, “And if you don’t [watch the rest of the program] we will invade your countries, kill your leaders, and convert you to Christianity.” What a kidder!
There’s more, another clip at the Huffington Post. Bob Cesca suggests that maybe conservatives just aren’t funny. Be that as it may, in 30 minutes this show very well may do to political comedy what it took Louis Pasteur six years to do to anthrax.
I’d like to see Fox News pour as much money as possible down this particular rat hole. So, by all means, watch the YouTube videos! Repeatedly. Maybe they’ll think they are really onto something with this show.
If I hear one more right-wing idiot make a joke about global warming in the context of the current cold weather, snow, ice, etc., I may just have to scream. For the last time, people, WEATHER AND CLIMATE ARE NOT THE SAME THING!!!
It’s just as bad when people point to hot weather in support of global warming. Even the 2005 hurricane season is not proof of global warming; it’s true that, as a result of global warming, that type of busy and violent hurricane season (and worse) is much more likely, but there is no proven causal link between the two. No reputable scientist has said there is.
We are talking about statistics here. Weather (what you feel when you step outside) exhibits a high degree of statistical variability. That’s why, no matter where you go, someone will make a joke along the lines of, “If you don’t like the weather here, wait five minutes!” Hurhurhur. Weather is variable; in fact, it is chaotic, but this probably isn’t the time to explain chaos theory.
Climate, on the other hand, is the sum of weather observations over long stretches of time and large geographic areas. It is extremely stable by comparison; because of this, something as small as a 1° change is large and worrisome (and I’ve been hearing about changes on the order of 8°–10° in the next few decades).
It is perfectly consistent with global warming for certain areas to get more precipitation and possibly even cool down somewhat over time—let alone the fact that normal statistical variability accounts for big snowstorms and cold temps this winter. Scientific gadflies like Nigel Calder and Christopher Horner are having fun playing the devil’s advocate with the prevailing scientific wisdom, and well they should. There’s nothing wrong with challenging conventional wisdom—that’s how science progresses. But at the end of the day, you have to back up your challenges with proof. And I tend to think people on the eroding Alaskan islands or those studying polar bears have all the evidence they need.
Six months ago, Foreign Policy magazine and the Center For American Progress surveyed the top 100 foreign policy experts to create a Terrorism Index. In creating the survey, they worked to eliminate political bias as much as possible. No one currently working for the government was polled (if it’s part of your job description, you can’t help but be biased); the answers of those who self-identified as conservative were mathematically weighted to balance a statistical preponderance of liberals (probably because many of the conservatives who would otherwise be polled are currently in the government).
It was a really interesting story, something I really wanted to blog about at the time but never got around to. As it happens, there is a new Terrorism Index out now, and it’s just as interesting as the first. For one thing, on many issues there is broad agreement between the experts, no matter where they fall on the ideological spectrum. I should mention these 100 people aren’t just guys off the street—participants include former secretaries of state, national intelligence advisors, White House aides, top military commanders, academics, and journalists.
Here are a few of the poll results:
The poll is fascinating (3D graphs and everything!), but the best thing is to keep your ears open to news outlets such as NPR for interviews with the people behind the Terrorism Index. That is how I first learned about it last summer. These interviews can bring the poll to life in ways that dry statistics can only hint at. And it is vitally important news.
Really, I tried. I wanted to see the Police perform on the Grammys tonight. Stewart Copeland is one of my idols.
But every time I would flip to that channel, within 15 seconds I would feel like throwing up. I guess I’m allergic to spectacle—there aren’t any awards shows I can stand to watch. But there is something about this smarmy and public mutual masturbation between the record industry and its most overblown artists (especially when the entire business model that enables them is in such crisis) that really, really creeps me out.
There was a bit of a hoohah a couple months ago when the White House Correspondents’ Association announced that this year’s annual dinner would feature Rich Little. Last year, famously, they brought in Stephen Colbert (video here, here, and here). I wouldn’t bring this up except I just ran into an absolutely deadpan New Yorker article, which included an interview with Mr. Little himself. If the author, Jeffrey Goldberg, were any more ironic, he’d be rusting. If Rich Little were any less self-aware, (to channel Molly Ivins) they’d have to water him once a day. Now, that’s a funny joke.
I’ve had a cold all week. Actually, I think my allergies were activated by some (long belated) cleaning last Friday, which gave me a sore throat, which made it easier for germs floating around at the gig Saturday night to make their way in, and two days later the sore throat turned into a full-blown cold. However, Elise turned me on to those Emergen-C packets, and I have to say I think they helped quite a bit. Not to mention the fact that I made myself stay horizontal for two full days, and take medicine to sleep at night. For entertainment I watched the last three discs of The Lord of the Rings extended edition set, which was even better than I remembered.
Last night, Thursday, I was finally feeling human enough to go to rehearsal. Afterwards, the other guys were helping me load my stuff out of the basement, which was very nice of them. I had the kick drum in my hands, calling out instructions on where to put stuff, when I rounded the corner of my car and hit a patch of ice. Boom! I landed on my left hip and wrist, so I have a couple of nice goose eggs developing there. Also the strap on the kick drum case tried to take my right thumbnail off as I went down—that’s almost the most irritating thing, because it hurts every time I click the select bar on my laptop.
While it’s hard to walk (the right knee has also started complaining), it doesn’t appear I did major damage to any drumming muscles, so I should be good for my gigs tonight and tomorrow.
I am soooooooooo ready for spring.
Update: I got to my gig last night and pulled the kick drum out, only to find that the fall had snapped one of the tuning rods in half and broken the front hoop. Guess I really did fall pretty hard. The drum sounded okay (Sonors are the best!), but the volume was only about half of normal. I couldn't hear it all night; fortunately it is miked, so the band didn't lose all its low end punch as a result. I’m off to the drum shop to try to get replacements now.
Go, Steve, go! Quote: (emphasis mine)
The third alternative is to abolish DRMs entirely. Imagine a world where every online store sells DRM-free music encoded in open licensable formats. In such a world, any player can play music purchased from any store, and any store can sell music which is playable on all players. This is clearly the best alternative for consumers, and Apple would embrace it in a heartbeat. If the big four music companies would license Apple their music without the requirement that it be protected with a DRM, we would switch to selling only DRM-free music on our iTunes store. Every iPod ever made will play this DRM-free music.
I’m sure this letter will cause controversy. I already heard on NPR this morning that the RIAA is enthusiastic about the second, and stupidest, of the three scenarios Jobs mentioned, that of Apple releasing its Fairplay DRM to competitors such as Microsoft and Sony. (The first was to continue as is, with each company using its own proprietary DRM).
I get so sick of how anti-technological, backwards-looking, and generally brain-dead the major labels have been on this whole subject. It’s nice to hear someone admit there is an elephant in the room.
The way intelligence sources were manipulated in the run-up to the Iraq war is still important. In fact, given all the rumblings about Iran these days, it’s more important than ever. With that in mind, here is an interview from Der Spiegel Online with Tyler Drumheller, the former chief of the the CIA’s Europe division. A couple of quotes:
From the perspective of the White House, it was smart to blur the lines about what was acceptable and what was not in the war on terrorism…. The rendition teams are drawn from paramilitary officers who are brave and colorful…. If they didn't do paramilitary actions for a living, they would probably be robbing banks….
The agency is not blameless and no president on my watch has had a spotless record when it comes to the CIA. But never before have I seen the manipulation of intelligence that has played out since Bush took office. As chief of Europe I had a front-row seat from which to observe the unprecedented drive for intelligence justifying the Iraq war.
BTW, did you know there is an actual officer called the “Director of Lessons Learned” in the White House? You can’t make this stuff up.
“The next time I tell you someone from Texas should not be president of the United States, please, pay attention.” Via the AP.
One of my favorite political bloggers, Glenn Greenwald, is going to start posting his blog at one of my favorite sites, Salon.com. It won’t make much difference to me, since I read both nearly every day, but it should increase Greenwald’s visibility, and that’s a good thing. He is an exceptionally clear-thinking and even-handed writer, and I hope more people will become familiar with his work as a result of the move.
coconut colors
are winter today: all brown
husks and snowy white
As we all know, every personal blog is required by law to post cat stories from time to time. I have been remiss.
Every morning is the same routine: the cats gather around the bed as it starts to get light outside—especially if I’ve been up too late the night before. Mikey will climb on me and purr loudly, or, if I haven’t slept enough, enthusiastically paw at the intersection of the sheets above and below me as if he’s trying to dig a hole. I consider it a point of honor not to get up until the alarm actually goes off; otherwise the cats win. Eventually I drag myself into the kitchen to give the furry ones a tiny amount of canned food, like a tablespoon apiece. This is the highlight of their day.
But this morning, there was no Smoofy.
I searched all over the house, down in the basement, in the garage, everywhere. No luck. I got my flashlight and started over. Out in the garage, I found the little gray kitty, scared as can be, hiding in a corner where I couldn’t see him without a light. I should explain—Smoofy and his brother Julius were originally feral cats, and are easily freaked out by humans. To this day, I have never even petted Julius (too many places he can hide in the house, and it makes no sense to traumatize him further trying to pet him). Smoofy is extremely affectionate, though half the time he still runs away when I come close to him.
He was too freaked out to come inside, even though it was literally freezing cold in the garage. The temp this morning was in the single digits, and the garage is a standalone unit. Smoofy ran under my car and wouldn’t come out. He seemed to be okay, but really needed to get warmed up. He had been out there at least seven hours. I tried to coax him out with food, with the other cats, with catnip, with the feathery thing on the end of a stick. No luck. I put a towel under the car so he could lie on it and maybe warm up a little, but he wouldn’t do it. After an hour or so, I brought one of those electric radiator things out and put it next to the car, hoping he would be attracted by the warmth. No dice, though the readout on the radiator said the ambient temperature was 32°. I had been lying on the floor a lot, talking to him and touching him—my fingers could just brush his face if I stretched hard enough. Even with frequent breaks, I was getting pretty chilled myself. The other cats? They were in heaven. A catnip party, expeditions out to the garage, extra food, and so forth. Smoofy should do this every day!
Finally, after almost two hours, he was close enough I could sort of pet him. He started purring and let me pet him more, and then finally came close enough I could pick him up and take him in the house. He jumped out of my arms and hid in the basement, though eventually he spent most of the morning in the upper reaches of the cat tree in the sun room, which has to be the warmest spot in the house. As for me, it was time for a hot shower and fresh coffee.
So, that’s why I haven’t gotten much work done today….
If you’ve read this blog long enough, you’ve seen links to the writings of Molly Ivins. She’s always been one of my favorite pundits (and there aren’t many of those) because she did two things: she cut straight to the heart of whatever she was writing about, and she made me laugh while she did it.
I was so sad to hear this morning that she passed away. There are tributes popping up all over the web; this one at American Street has lots of links to her writings, and NPR as well, though most of the featured pieces there aren't her funniest or most incisive stuff, imho.
Farewell, Molly. I hope you’ve gone to a better place. Meanwhile, this one is a little poorer and a little darker for your absence.
Update: Read The Rude Pundit’s tribute to Molly Ivins. Yes, read it now.