Yeah, those other two are off trying to write a book like two right hands with one pen between them. No word yet how long they’ll be.
And I wish them luck, of course. Writing a story is a daunting task if you want it to be even remotely readable, let alone good. For me, though, the great and all untouchable novel is an animal I’d rather not have to deal with no matter how much coffee I drink. I can’t imagine taking on that amount of work voluntarily.
So they’ll be gone a while. But that doesn’t stop the ugly and the weird from showing up in the world of government, politics and economics. And shit, that’s my turf. So let’s get started.
First of all, I’m not talking about Haiti. I’m certainly not talking about John Edward’s illigitimate child, and god-damn you if that’s what you wanted to read about. You know what’s happening in Haiti by now. You know what the problem is. Poverty. Destitution. Inequity. Unfair extortion from France, and a general disinterest from the rest of the world. A lack of roads from the airport is just a symptom, as are the riotous crowds that form whenever someone tries to distribute supplies or food to those dying from things much worse than crumbling buildings. You don’t need Anderson Cooper showing you these things over and over for ten days; what you need is to know what policies have been in place that supported these conditions, who enacted those policies, who might have benefitted from them and which of these people are still running for re-election? And if they’re appointed, who appointed them or might reappoint them or someone similar? You need to know how you can vote to avoid these kinds of conditions. That’s political free speech, and that’s what runs a Democracy.
In any case, I digress. Or do I? What I really meant to talk about here is how our leaders don’t really work for the left any more than they work for the right. If you don’t see this, you’re probably getting your news from exactly where they want you getting it from. You’re probably watching CNN, or reading without thinking, maybe even wondering where you could possibly find the time to learn about any of these big issues enough to take an intelligent stand on it, assuming you had time to do that.
But that’s exactly the problem.
Look: after what happened this last week in the Unite States Supreme Court I was all ready to vituperate the general voting public. I was nonplussed at first, struck dumb with disbelief at the blatant criminality of what I’d just heard. It can’t be true, I thought, this must be left-wing spin. My sense of irate disgust kicked in and I wanted to set the internet on fire. But I couldn’t get it all down before my reason got the best of me and the next thing I knew I was scouring left and right wing news sites looking for details, as well as noting which sites didn’t mention the damn thing at all.
To be fair, I suppose there are just too many indirect leads into the roots of the causes of this latest bit of very grim news for me to berate everyone but people like Howard Zinn for not seeing this outrage coming…especially given the standards to which I typically hold the general public. This is the Supreme Court we’re talking about, and all you do is vote for the guy who would appoint one or two of them. And they have to be confirmed by…oh, right — the other people you get to vote for. But, man, that’s a lot to consider when all I’m trying to decide is whether this person agrees with me on major issues.
Yes, being a citizen is hard work, eh? But maybe if people who’d voted for a pimp like Bush could’ve considered more than just what he was like to have a beer with, such as what dangerous things might he do in office, we wouldn’t have decisions that endanger the very foundation of what makes a democracy made along a corner of the government that gets almost no attention.
But this is, after all, the year of the Rat. Maybe not on the chinese calendar, but certainly in the US Congress where the scurvy bastards on both sides have been doing nothing but stalling for the better part of a year now, on pretty much everything they touch. No leadership, no leader, and no action. And down the hill at the courthouse, Kennedy, Scalia and Roberts, along with the other two — who I’m daring you to look up yourself right now — are carrying on the pro-business agenda almost in the dark.
I say almost because yes, it is in the papers that the 5-4 Supreme Court ruling overturned about a hundred years of legislation preventing corporations from deciding between them the results of the Amerikan “democracy”. It is in the papers that the court ruled that money is a form of free speech and that corporations too, have a right to it, amazingly. It is in the papers that purely legal entities, while still prohibited from giving directly to candidates to further their own agendas, can now spend unlimited amounts on television ads and radio time, or any other form of public influence. But aside from a couple of pundits here and there that are pointing out how much this limits any individual’s ability to make a voice heard over the billions that oil and insurance companies will certainly pour into campaigns now, there is very little noise made about what this ruling means. The urge of a few people to scream their fiery hearts out into the black empty abyss made wider by corporate money now amounts to a fart in a hurricane.
But this is and always has been the logical progression of things. When the voting public participates in the political process only enough to claim as much, people with actual interests will surely win out the disinterest of the masses, even if they are the majority. And when those few people aren’t people at all but legal entities with all but unlimited cash, the interests of the disinterested won’t go forgotten, or ignored…they’ll simply cease to exist.
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The trouble is mounting on something already too twisted and cold to grasp without gloves. Much like yanking thick ivy off a wrought iron fence on a cold morning, finding any trace of actual public service under the hack and filth of the new health care bill will be a job no American will want to take. Truth is, even before the votes are all in it’ll be just as heavy. Chances are, of course, that it won’t fall on you, and you’ll be able to safely ignore the damn thing without looking odd and out of place like a sexless jack rabbit in spring. Soon enough the congress will round up to vote on the health care bill they’ve been talking incessantly about and we’ll answer once again that old question: if a politician votes no on a necessary piece of legislation and no one from his state has been paying attention, will the affair make any noise at all?
Despite the activists, despite the motions, the small contributing calls to action here and there that might have been producing some sort of momentum, when the vote comes down we will hear very little about it, and not because of the mainstream media’s usual complicit tactics with the men on the hill. No, we won’t hear about it because it will no longer be news; there will no longer be any story worth telling as we’ve all known for some time now that this is and has always been the same story we’ve heard before, just with a different illustrator. And in the world of 24-hour news, grief is a very expensive line item.
Of course, it’s not really a vote for or against anything we wanted in the first place, which is the right to not worry about how we, as human beings, will pay for our health. What they’ll be voting on won’t even bother trying to offer single-payer health care. It will feign to be reform in the sense that it will offer a weak and unenforceable version of a mandate that everyone be insured, but all this will really do is provide many new unwitting clients to an industry rolling with the fat of peoples’ suffering.
It will not regulate the prices those fat cats can charge, allowing insurance companies to inflate them as much as they can get away with. And when you’re lying on an operating table with a lump the size of a golf ball in your breast, or a grown man’s finger up your rectum saying, “uh-oh, mister Johnson, it looks like things are about to get uncomfortable for you,” you’ll consider just about any price they start throwing in your direction.
Assuming they’re willing to pay for it at all. Shit, in the light of this mess it’s come out that insurance companies won’t even promise to cover their own emlployees…what chance do you think YOU have?
Instead, the new plan might offer the states the Right to offer a state-level option for health care as a token of show, a shiny hood ornament, or something just as functional. It will be ravaged by the insurance company executives and lobbyists in the much weaker state legislatures which — conveniently — is where the whole process will become easier to ignore, because who the hell is paying attention to state legislatures? Not to mention creating the potential for fifty different health care organizations, all doing more or less the same thing and doubling up on all of the same administrative tasks, wasting more money than necessary and dooming the projects to the critics years before it’s even time to bury the thing.
And when the impotent thing passes — which it will…no politician today can afford the political capital of not passing SOMETHING — we will hear all kinds of applause for a few days before the whole thing vanishes under cloaks of appeals and unsexy subcommittee talks. Nothing for the national press, I’m afraid. Unless I’m much mistaken — and I’ve never wished so badly that I was — we will hear President Obama laud it as his success at bipartisan health reform, just like Clinton did for his own inadequate failure. Democrats will pat each other’s backs and shuffle out the door to discuss “Don’t ask don’t tell”, while Republicans grumble behind the camera and shout on the radio about repealing what the democrats shove through.
And who cares? They’re not going to repeal anything any more than you’d notice if they did. Health care as a topic will fizzle, probably until the next time a “hope and change” candidate runs and we’ll go through the whole futile exercise again. Maybe we’ll still have journalists like Maddow and Olbermann, and we’ll still have lunatics, pimps and jackasses like Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly, and Glenn Beck. And we’ll fuck that up too, and move on to the next juicy topic, be it Afghanistan, or gays in the military, or Rush Limbaugh’s failed attempt at buying the St. Louis Rams. Whatever. It’s all been done before.
And in 2010, with Obama’s new Nobel Peace Prize for…something, and the Democrats’ most epic failure since George McGovern’s loss in ‘72, Republicans will slowly gain more and more seats again, until finally, when they’ve found a voice sober enough to silence idiots like Sara Palin and Bobby Jindal, someone with more temporal coherence than Michael Steele to stay on point and lead their party in some kind of direction, the vicious cycle will return us to a Republican President again.
Don’t mistake my anger for pessimism. It’s just that…well, I hope to be halfway to Mars by then.
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I wish there were thunder tonight. The rain that comes in droves, that slashes the streets and the tourists that crawl through them in bountiful numbers is just another pain in the ass tonight without the thunder. A pathetic pitter-patter slipping through the air, nudging my window sill and reminding everyone of an Ernest Hemingway story. Or something.
It would be glorious to be sitting here, writing down whatever will come tonight but have my thoughts punctuated by the smashing of gods running amok in the atmosphere. It would be hearty and wholesome to be shaken to anger tonight instead of being stirred by melancholy and the ambivalent moisture that occasionally falls victim to gravity. It would instantly inspire to be snapped to attention and instantly filled with power by the reverberation of frustration that can fill the cavity of the sky while my words were thrust out on the page like the spatter of paint from a flicked brush, like the crimson tide of a soldier’s bloodied sword at the end of a particularly deadly thrust.
Indeed. But that is not what the weather system that hangs steadily over the UK has in store for us tonight, so we should move on with the grace and the serenity of a losing candidate like Sarah Palin.
What? No. That never happened. It would be foolish and self-deceiving to think such a thing and only a loser would do it. And it’s not what’s on the plate for tonight. You might think that with the campaign over there is little to rage and ravage about on the airwaves and tubes. There are many people that think along such lines but I am not one of them. I have other issues to discuss, and while it’s refreshing to let the politics hang for a while and let the campaign bloat release its grip on the general electorate (and especially the pundits), I’m happy to go back to something closer to home.
Like the fact that Thanksgiving is approaching.
Oh, I know. You’re thinking, “yay, turkey and cranberry, pumpkin pie, mom’s stuffing, et al.” And that’s great. Really. But I’m not talking about “Thanksgiving.”
I’m talking about something Epic. Something that my children will talk about for decades to come, and that your kids will likely have nightmares about when I tell them of it. I’m talking about something that is rallying troops from 2 hemispheres, speaking 6 different languages from 9 different countries. I’m talking about cross-continental grocery shopping, 4 trips to Oslo airport’s legendary duty-free international purchasing center and various expeditions to find outrageous ingredients in the heart of the Dutch capital. I’m talking about unexplained kitchen disasters, mysterious explosions, emergency BASTing, and unknown recipe calculations not for the faint of spirit. I’m talking about baby dragons, I’m talking about unprecedented chilling, uncalled for levels of fun with party favors to boot.
I’m talking about TG08.
That is all ye know, and all ye need to know. For now. Stay tuned.
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Yes.
Indeed.
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In the late autumn, the yellowing leaves don’t always stop falling just because it’s night time; that’s why even in the dark and strange cold of Amsterdam in November, the canals will still fill up with leaves and other trash no matter what the streets are stirring up, no matter what the sweeps are sweeping up.
People bumble slowly down the narrow walkways and the city glows with an eerie darkness that lets through a fraction of the light scattered by the soft haze. A dead leaf floats gently on the cushion of the thick air that hangs between buildings and eventually lands softly onto the liquid below. An alerting cold started at my toes and threatens to crawl up my ankle. I am tense tonight and I know exactly why.
Tuesday is coming, and with it, November 4th. On three quarters of any other year this day would pass by with the meaninglessness of all of those fallen leaves resting on the surface tension of the waterways of Amsterdam, but not this year. This is Election Year.
There is a bad noise coming from the birds that occasionally swoop over the canals but not tonight. People who know Seagulls tell me that the birds always go out to sea to die but I suspect this is not always the case. No sir. The various alleyways and narrow canals of Central Amsterdam are crawling with things that are ready to die but seem to want one more fix of whatever it is for which they yearn. And a quick glance outside tells me that this is Seagull country. These birds are waiting for something too or they’d be long gone.
The mansion across the water continues to shine its bright light in my face and will until 2008 is over. That’s when the city will take the celebratory thing down off of the Tripp Family building and things will change then. It won’t, of course, be just this bright white box hanging on the building I see from my Dutch window that I won’t have to deal with anymore. Indeed, 2008 will die and will take with it a very dark stain on the American Way of Life.
But first, Barack Obama must defeat John McCain. Until then, I will have to put up with these goddamn birds.
–
Make no mistake about it; we are headed into a dark week and things are only going to get weirder from here. John McCain and Sarah Palin may indeed go silently into the good night but I wouldn’t count on it. I have put my money on getting more laughable sound bites from that jackass pimp, Tucker Bounds, to aggravate anything with a functioning cerebellum and at the same time energize the republican base to show up and vote their black little hearts out. What a fun night Monday will be.
I’ve also doubled down on some more absurd rhetoric in Pennsylvania and Florida, even though it’s Nevada, Ohio, Missouri and Virginia that are flippable at this point. Pennsylvania and Florida are just the ones that would cause damage to some very big Egos if they started going Red right now. And no one is ready to talk about that, so we here won’t either. Call it “solidarity”.
You betcha. The politics will get heavy this week, and don’t lose sight of that because other things will be happening as well. This will be a very good week for ugly things to come out of the closet. No one will notice anything - from illegitimate babies aborted on the supreme court bench to corrupt senators being ousted from their states like feculent rats, straight into federal prison for 35 years. Except you and me because, well, we’re here, taking note to not be duped, right?
Indeed. The only way to miss the main event this week will be to bury your head in the sand like a blind animal or a Raiders fan living in a fairy tale. It’s possible, of course, to overdo it and lose yourself in the quagmire of whiskey and despair, a phenomenon that CNN is calling “Election Obsession”. There are many people in the continental US that are affected by this horrible psychosis and flee to the woods for days at a time in order to escape stimuli. Imagine that. Regular fathers, mothers, doctors and plumbers, suddenly realizing that they’re struck/stricken with an uncontrolled obsession with election year politics and can’t get away from any media that won’t shower them with the same information in a dozen different formats. Foaming at the mouth and snapping at strangers, they get a grip just long enough to make a lucid decision to make for whatever back country woods they can find in their home state, searching for shelter and an absence of an internet connection to calm their woes. The symptoms for Election Obsession include spending hours in internet chat room discussions that go nowhere and nervous ticks, primarily in the corners of the eyes that are strained from trying to read into the vague statements made by campaign staffers. Foaming at the mouth occurs in rare instances and may be more linked to babbling than anything else.
But that’s not me, folks, and I have different plans. Though I haven’t yet decided if I’ll be on a flight between here and Norway or perhaps Eastern Europe, I will certainly be connected once I land. And god help the stewardess that tells me I can’t turn on my laptop during landing. A night like next Tuesday only comes every 4 years and I hope to avoid a repeat of 2004 and 2000 this time around. I will be prepared for the worst, and expect Nothing. This will take Concentration, of course.
Total. Concentration.
Which is why I’ll be in midair for a large part of it. Matters are different this time and that could complicate things. 2000 caught millions off-guard and we couldn’t even articulate what happened before our very eyes. In 2004 we overestimated the intelligence of the average American in time of war (or at least, in a time when war rhetoric is spewed from every orifice of government) and we watched in many different ways and with many different eyes as the tragedy unfolded itself from the weirdest corners of idle minds somewhere in a strange place called Ohio.
Sure, there were some of us that didn’t even know it was happening and went on with our midterms and our Christmas shopping and our reality TV. But some of us sat glued to the tube counting counties in abject disbelief and struggled to accept it. Others perched on their rooftops, howling at the moon and throwing half-empty bottles of Tecate at their neighbors and passers-by, climbing down briefly every 10 or 15 minutes to refresh their browsers for updates. Others couldn’t handle the crisis and did horrible things like dig holes in the sand on a dark beach, or sit on tall bridges over places like the Golden Gate and ponder horrible actions. Meanwhile the CNN logo flashed on a screen flickering in the empty dark of their distant living rooms filled only with the gnarly sounds of Wolf Blitzer’s mouth.
Yes. This time it will not go unnoticed by anyone. The ratings for CNN are as high as the market is low and the prices of ad space for Tuesday Night is starting to look like the Superbowl. If you miss out on the fun this year it will be not just by choice but by active effort. Some people will still perch on their rooftops and hurl bottles and others will dig holes, as always. Most people will have a 24-hour news channel on mute as they go about domestic chores. There are those that will try to have a normal night, maybe go to the movies, maybe hit the bars. But the only consistent topic of conversation will be The Outcome.
–
Even the traditional pornography sites will have political leanings on Tuesday night for those who think they can get away from it by dodgier avenues, like non-stop masturbation or else by watching Fox News. Certain prostitutes in the red light district of Amsterdam have been investing in costumes and paraphernalia for the event. Bill Clinton dick sheathes and American flags with sperm instead of stars were popular a few years back but shop owners in Amsterdam have been mum on what’s popular this year.
“The girls have been asking us to keep it a surprise for their patrons, and we respect that,” said the floor manager at the Casa Rossi sex shop. Well, ’said’ is a strong word, but it was heavily implied by his demeanor.
But not everyone is so keen to produce an opinion on the touchy matter, even in a place like The Red Light District of Amsterdam. Bouncers at strip clubs claim to have no events or gimmicks planned for election night, insisting it’s business as usual.
“Just another Tuesday night here,” said a large, bald Russian who then quickly shooed me away with his stare. I asked some of the regular girls in the windows if they’d bought any costumes or fun toys for election night to get the crowds excited on but they were, surprisingly, very shy about the topic.
“I don’t really care about any of those guys,” said ‘Sasha’, squirming in that thin and cold air, asking me to “come in and have some fun for 25 minutes.” All it would take was €50.
“Oh, come on,” I pressed. “You’ve got to have SOME kind of opinion…who would you rather have visit you here?” She thought about it for a little longer.
“Obama,” she said, “because he’s younger and pretty tall.” No denying that, I thought.
But ‘You’re not much if you ain’t Dutch’, they say around here, which is strange because it might turn out to be the other way around. The Dutch ways of discretion and moderation owned the situation with the hosts of “The District”. But the patrons were something else entirely. A stroll through The District quickly illustrates that discretion is a concept wasted on anyone in the red-light district of Amsterdam. No one wore their colors on their shoulders, but opinions here are as pervasive as the natural sexual desires and perversions that often only see the light of day in this alleyway of narrow boats and bimbos and decked out pimps that walk with the gait of a clown or a goose out of water. Or Tucker Bounds.
With the lines between locals and tourists, hosts and patrons and winners and losers continuously blurred by a tenancy towards anonymity in those dank streets, it seems that even the direct approach may be too dangerous an endeavor for this election.
So pollsters, go home. Sit back and wait for the real numbers. That’s about the only thing we can count on now.
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