It’s a tough time to be a political blogger. There’s no shortage of news to write about but it’s all so depressing, reckless, and stupid. I’ve rationed my news intake, so I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’ve reduced my cable news diet because TV news evokes emotions that reading about the Trump-Musk wilding does not. Besides, Lawrence O’Donnell has been on vacation this week and he’s my go-to guy. He obviously needed the week off. I hope he returns refreshed next Monday. We all need a break from the madness.

Another thing I’m doing is lessen the MAGA stress is to revisit some favorite movies. Tomorrow’s movie post is in the nature of a love letter to the 1939 classic, The Roaring Twenties. I love me some Cagney and Bogie.

Stay tuned and stay sane.

I still have The Guess Who on my mind. Hence this week’s theme song.

Then lead guitarist Kurt Winter wrote Hand Me Down World for The Guess Who’s 1970 album Share The Land. It’s an underrated part of the band’s canon because it was written by neither Burton Cummings nor Randy Bachman.

Speaking of hand me down shoes:

We have two more worldly songs for your listening pleasure. The first one takes us from Kurt to Curt, Smith, that is.

We begin our second act with the first game of a Slate doubleheader. Play ball.

The Jackie Robinson Pentagon web site mishigas led both Slate and your humble blogger to re-post something relevant about racism and Jackie Robinson.

Shame Of The Picayune: In 1956, Bill Keefe was the sports editor of the New Orleans Times-Picayune. He was a highly regarded writer, but he had a blind spot. Like many of his contemporaries, Keefe was a raging racist of the Old South variety. He got into a public slagging match with Jackie Robinson about race. Jackie was the winner.

Here’s how Jackie concluded a letter to Keefe:

“I am happy for you, that you were born white. It would have been extremely difficult for you had it been otherwise.

Sincerely yours,

Jackie Robinson”

Burn.

Slate’s Josh Levin has the details. He also spoke to Keefe’s daughter who does not share her father’s views.

The last word of the segment goes to Count Basie:

Have I told you lately how much I love Count Basie?

We return to our contemporary programming with the next segment.

Irish Family Stories: There’s a longstanding Irish myth that Jameson’s whiskey is for Catholics and Bushmills is for Protestants. That’s what Slate’s Ash Croce learned at his grandfather’s knee. It turns out that nothing is what it seems, or as former New Orleans Mayor Vic Schiro once said: “Don’t believe any false rumors unless they come from me.”

Word.

The last word of our second act goes to The Band:

We begin our third act with our favorite stolen feature.

Separated At Birth Casting Edition: I shared a Thaddeus Stevens story on Thursday morning. He was played by Tommy Lee Jones in Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln.

Your Weekly Oscar: This time, we have an unusual OP selection. It was composed to celebrate the Charles-Diana nuptials and features our hero on Fender Rhodes electric piano.

Have I told you lately how much I love Oscar Peterson?

The Best Of Siskel & Ebert; We have a new entrant in best of world. It’s a reminder of what a good year 1992 was for movies. It was also a good year for Democrats.

1992 wasn’t all sweet nothings and the victorious Clinton-Gore campaign. It had its downside too:

Saturday GIF Horse: My motto for this segment is: When in doubt post a Marx Brothers GIF.

If I liked Billy Joel, I’d post Piano Man at this point. Since I don’t, here’s a cover of a Tom Waits song by Dan Hicks:

Your Weekly Political Cartoon: It comes from the Guardian’s Martin Rowson and addresses Europe’s fear of Trump and Putin.

I’m relieved that it’s not a human sacrifice.

Let’s close down this virtual honky tonk with some more music.

Saturday Closer: I’ve been in a rotten mood this week: Louis Armstrong’s music always cheers me up as does the thought of Auntie Mame.

I needed that. Thanks, Pops.

That’s all for this week. The last word goes to Louis Armstrong and some proto-paparazzi: