Dr. A and I went to the batshit crazy Saints season opener against the Houston Texans. The game had everything: bad calls, great plays, and a crazy ending. Most importantly, the Saints won with a 58 yard field goal by Will Lutz. It was his career long. The crowd was stunned in a good way. My personal streak of the Saints always winning when I sit in our friend Fred’s end zone seats was imperiled but it’s intact. Stay tuned.
This week’s theme song was written by Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter in 1968. The music of Dark Star is often credited to the entire band, which seems only fair as it’s the ultimate jam band song.
We have two versions of the Dead’s Dark Star for your listening pleasure. First, the single version, which clocks in at a modest 2:44. It’s followed by a more typical second set medley that commences with Dark Star. It comes from the 12/31/78 closing of Winterland show that my younger self attended.
It’s time for a visit to Dismbiguation City with a swell song written by Stephen Stills and recorded by Crosby, Stills & Nash in 1977.
Now that we’ve bathed in the glow of the Dark Star, let’s jump to the break before the Dead go into The Other One. “Coming, coming, coming around.”
“Gun rights,” as used by devotees of an absolutist Second Amendment, means their right to own guns. But as used in real American life these days (or real American deaths), it means the rights of guns. Guns themselves possess even more rights than persons do.
<SNIP>
Guns’ exemption from common-sense legislation guarantees them not only rights, but also rites. Guns are sacred objects. They should not even be insulted, which is blasphemy. They are “the American way.” They are more than things, more even than persons. They are an unstoppable force, a god. They are, indeed, Our Moloch.
Those are the first and last paragraphs in Wills’ recent piece, The Rights Of Gun. How right is he? Totally. The NRA has become a cult whose second amendment absolutism verges on idolatry. A good example is the fetish some gun worshipers have for strapping on their weapons to go shopping. Who the hell needs a long gun whilst thumping melons at Wal-Mart? Mercifully, they’ve banned such performative rituals and other retailers have followed suit.
I know many gun owners; none of whom feels the need to strut about in public with their weapons. Some hunt, others like to target shoot but they all lock their guns up. OTOH, at an estranged friend’s house, I once sat on the couch and felt something beneath me: a package of bullets. I think he was just a rotten housekeeper but I was not amused.
I’ve never owned a gun. They were verboten in my house. My father was a veteran but he disliked guns. Since he was an interpreter, I doubt if he ever shot anyone but he knew what pistols are for: to kill people. And rifles are for hunting, not grocery shopping. Assault weapons are for the military, not civilians.
I admit to being mystified by the religious fervor exuded by the more extreme gun worshipers. Perhaps it’s a result of having the man who played Moses, Charlton Heston, as NRA president for five years. Whatever it is, it’s creepy and the country is overdue for some sensible gun control measures. It’s time for people to have rights, not guns.
It’s getting crowded and confused on the campaign trail. As the Democratic presidential field narrows, the Republican field expands. The latest entrant is former Palmetto State Governor and Congressman Mark Sanford. He’s best known for two things: an embarrassing sex scandal as Governor and losing a primary to a Trumper last year.
Sanford is challenging the Kaiser of Chaos from the right. Even though he voted for the Trump-Ryan tax scam, he’s running as a fiscal conservative. Perhaps he’ll branch out and discuss the other disasters wrought by Team Trump but right now Sanford is lost in the fog of scandal.
Exploding the budget deficit strikes me as one of the lesser Trump scandals. It’s what Republican presidents have done since Reagan: cut taxes, explode the deficit, then try to shred the social safety. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was.
Sanford’s fellow former “Freedom Caucus” member, Justin Amash, has cited Trumpian gloating after Sanford’s defeat as a decisive factor in his departure from the GOP. The Insult Comedian is not a gracious winner.
A reminder of Sanford’s hilarious 2009 sex scandal. He went missing as Governor. While he was holed up in Argentina, his aides claimed that he was “hiking the Appalachian Trail.” He was exposed as a liar, resigned as Governor, was divorced by his wife, and married his Argentine lover. One would think the Insult Comedian would identify with a liar and a cheat but apparently not.
The lame Appalachian Trail excuse was in the news again the other day. Without a hint of irony or self-awareness, Trump has taken to mocking Sanford for it but he’s easily confused: the other day he called it the “Tallahassee Trail.” There is no such thing and anyone who hikes in Florida’s capital city in the summer is apt to get heat stroke. Holy trail mix-up, Batman.
If Sanford had a sense of humor, one of his campaign planks would be to save the Appalachian Trail from the Trump regime and the oil companies. It’s under attack and needs all the help it can get.
There are now three primary challengers to the Current Occupant: Sanford, the Other Joe Walsh, and Bill Weld. The more the merrier. If one of the cable networks schedules a GOP debate, it’s easy to imagine Trump impulsively deciding to participate thereby violating the iron clad rule that incumbent presidents do not debate intra-party challengers because it elevates them. His handlers would be wise to place him in a straitjacket so he won’t accept. It’s where he belongs anyway.
In other campaign news, the Democrats are debating on ABC tonight. I’m undecided as to whether I want to watch. I might have better things to do but if I don’t, I’ll file an instant analysis post.
You’re not seeing double. The theme song for Town Without Pity was indeed the theme song for the last Saturday Odds & Sods. I did not, however, include a movie poster or book cover. Here they are:
Here’s the trailer for this underrated Kirk Douglas classic:
Finally, one more version of the theme song; this time an instrumental.
I try not to make solemn days of remembrance about myself. But I recently had jury duty, which is why I’m bending that rule on the 18th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. September, 2001 was the last time I had jury duty until this summer.
In 2001, you were obliged to serve the entire month, which largely consists of sitting in the over-cooled basement room called the juror’s lounge. It’s uncomfortable so little actual lounging happens there.
I recall hearing a gasp from one of our keepers, followed by a rush to turn on the teevee set. That’s when we saw for the first time the sickening sight of the airplanes taking out the Twin Towers. We were all numb and the room went silent as Dan Rather came onscreen looking shaken and somewhat disheveled.
We were dismissed for the day and eventually for the month. Nobody at Orleans Criminal District Court felt like trying any cases 18 years ago today. It was time to mourn our dead.
Thinking today about everyone involved who didn’t see it coming and got away from it, and thankful for everyone who signed up for any kind of job where you realize what happened and run towards it.
He went on to quote Bruce Springsteen’s The Rising:
Can’t see nothin’ in front of me
Can’t see nothin’ coming up behind
Make my way through this darkness
I can’t feel nothing but this chain that binds me
Lost track of how far I’ve gone
How far I’ve gone, how high I’ve climbed
On my back’s a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile of line
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Left the house this morning
Bells ringing filled the air
I was wearin’ the cross of my calling
On wheels of fire I come rollin’ down here
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
The last word goes to Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band:
It’s a testament to the times in which we live that John Bolton was fired for being right about something. John Bolton is almost never right about anything but he was right about the Taliban peace conference at Camp David. Be still my attacking heart.
I’m hoping for a war of words between Trump and Bolton. Both men need enemies and love to fight. But Bolton is much tougher than Trump: he’ll stab his enemies in the front. The Kaiser of Chaos is strictly a backstabber and twitter fighter. The term keyboard warrior was invented for him. Trump is a pussy. He should grab himself.
I was among those who thought the Bolton appointment would lead to a shooting war. I’m glad that I was wrong but it wasn’t for lack of trying. This cartoon still sums up my opinion of Bolton:
President* Pennywise is on the prowl for his fourth national security advisor; That would tie him for second place with Eisenhower, but Ike served two asterisk free terms. The record holder is Ronald Reagan who had six: two of whom were convicted of crimes related to the Iran-Contra scandal and one of whom was pardoned by Poppy Bush. The scary thing is that Trump’s scandals make Reagan look like a piker. So it goes.
Speaking of Iran-Contra, my friend Bill is “rooting” for Oliver North to be the Insult Comedian’s fourth national security advisor. Nothing this president* does surprises me BUT Ollie is at war with Wayne LaPierre and Trump is scared shitless of the NRA. Never gonna happen, my friend.
A brief word about the post title. It’s a play on the word molting, which is when a bird sheds its feathers or an arthropod loses its exoskeleton. Trump is forever molting senior advisers, this time it just happened to rhyme.
Finally, there’s some dispute as to whether Bolton jumped or was pushed. That’s why the last word goes to Richard and Linda Thompson although a gender switch/swap is in order:
I’m a slacker Star Trek fan. I don’t speak Klingon and I wasn’t aware that Brent Spiner had recorded an album of standards in 1991: Ol’ Yellow Eyes Is Back.
The album title is a play on Sinatra’s Ol’ Blue Eyes Is Back. Spiner’s eyes were yellow when he played Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation and subsequent movies.
The album cover is unremarkable. I picked it because of the punny title and Star Trek connection. The music is pretty darn good as well.
When Trump tweeted about the peace conference with the Taliban, I assumed he was lying. Meeting at Camp David with the terrorist group that sheltered Osama Bin-Laden this close to the 18th anniversary of 9/11 made no sense. Additionally, I assumed that even the Insult Comedian knew it was idiotic to leak news of a failure. I was wrong. It’s true and Trump *is* stupid and delusional enough to tweet about a failure.
Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
Here’s the deal: to make peace, one has to negotiate with one’s enemies. The Oslo talks between Israel and the PLO are the best example I can think of. But the leaders at the top of the food chain were not involved until a deal was sealed by their subordinates. Being a narcissist, Trump wanted to be the closer, which is one of many reasons this deal collapsed.
Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
A signing ceremony this close to 9/11 would allow President* Pennywise to make that solemn anniversary about him, not those who died in the attacks.
Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
The collapse of the negotiations and Trump’s leak make success less likely. I think we should leave Afghanistan as soon as possible BUT Trump has made that much harder. He’s not only discredited himself, he’s discredited peacemaking for the time being. Heckuva job, Trumpy.
Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
I never thought I’d say anything nice about Dick Cheney’s horrible spawn but at least Liz Cheney had the guts to criticize this move from the right. You know the world is upside down when I say anything nice about any Cheney.
Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
I wish I could figure out how to make lemonade out of this lemon of a deal. The best I can do is to give The Police the last word with a song that works even better now than it did when it was released in 1980:
On Saturday, I said that Drew Brees ate my Friday. I was being literal, not facetious for a change. I had originally planned to quote the Guardian quoting Miriam Lord of the Irish Times then, but I wanted Drew Brees Agonistes at the top of the blog all day.
She described the impact of the Pence visit on Ireland as “like pulling out all the stops for a much-anticipated visitor to your home and thinking it has been a great success until somebody discovers he shat on the new carpet in the spare room, the one you bought specially for him”.
“As Pence read from the autocue and Irish eyes definitely stopped smiling,” she added, “it was clear he was channeling His Master’s Voice. Trump is a fan of Brexit and of Boris.”
“Pence,” Lord continued, “is Irish American and wastes no opportunity to go misty-eyed about his love for the ‘Old Country’ as he lards on his Mother Machree schtick on both sides of the Atlantic.”
Snap.
I might have called it his Quiet Man schtick but that was even funnier. It evokes Pence in a green bonnet and pantaloons. Pantaloons is one of the funniest words in the language.
The Pence visit was a fiasco. Ain’t nothing worse than a sanctimonious liar. Plus he lied about lining his Master’s pockets by staying 140 some miles outside Dublin at Trump’s Irish joint, which is like staying in Mobile when you’re visiting New Orleans. That’s why I call him Mike Liar, Liar, Pence On Fire.
I guess they didn’t refuel in Scotland but there’s always next time. That’s why I call it the Fog of Scandal.
Cover art for Paul Eluard’s Reflections by Max Ernst.
Extreme heat is the price we’ve paid for missing out on Hurricane Dorian. As cranky as I am, I’m glad this heat-bringing high is warding off any tropical activity. I won’t miss it when it’s gone but I’m glad it’s here as Dorian creeps up the east coast. That storm is a relentless motherfucker. The fucker should return to the attic from whence it came.
Drew Brees ate my Friday morning. I hope he buttons his lip and keeps his foot out of his mouth until after Monday’s game.
The featured image is a collage done by the great Max Ernst for a book by his fellow surrealist, Paul Eluard. You may have noticed that I love surrealist art. I use it a lot in this space and have even threatened to post nothing but Ernst and Magritte featured images for Odds & Sods. I’ve also used an Ernst image for my new Bayou Brief column, 13th Ward Rambler.
This week’s theme song was written by Dimitri Tiomkin and Ned Washington for the 1961 Kirk Douglas film, Town Without Pity. I’d never seen the movie until last weekend. It’s a cross between film noir, Italian neo-realism, German expressionism, and a Cassavetes flick. I liked it a lot and give it 3 1/2 stars and an Adrastos Grade of B+. It’s currently streaming on Amazon Prime.
We have three versions of Town Without Pity for your listening pleasure: the Gene Pitney original, Stray Cats, and the Brian Setzer Orchestra. My boy Brian knows a hidden treasure when he hears one.
Let’s escape the bleak mean streets of a German town without pity by remorselessly jumping to the break.
I wrote about Drew Brees and his unfortunate relationship with Focus on the Family in my new not-so secret identity as the Bayou Brief’s 13th Ward Rambler, I should give credit where it’s due to Jenn Bentley of Big Easy Magazine for breaking the story, which, in turn, raised a ruckus on social media. I have a reading assignment for my readers: watch the video, read my piece, then Ms. Bentley’s before proceeding.
Welcome back.
The Saints QB responded yesterday in an awkward not terribly straightforward way, which made matters worse with the folks who were angry and/or disappointed with him. He provided an answer to the question I posed at the Bayou Brief: Wingnut or Conservative. Unfortunately, it’s the former but he’s still a great QB.
After several day of controversy, Brees responded that he knew nothing of the group’s anti-gay activities or “any type of hate-type related stuff.”
“I was not aware of that at all,” he said. He also insisted that the video was not meant to promote any group, and certainly not any group “that is associated with that type of behavior.”
“To me, that is totally against what being a Christian is all about,” Brees said.
Maybe he should have just stopped there, instead of adding that it’s a shame that people are using the controversy to “make headlines” and get clicks. Brees really has nobody to blame for that but himself.
Yeah you right, Stephanie.
Liberal Saints fans seem to be divided into two camps. Those who didn’t already know about his politics are up in arms about the whole mess. Others, like me, are well-aware that Brees is a right-winger. His association with the Focus on the Family fucks dates back at least to 2015 and perhaps even farther. I’m inclined to view this flap as part of what might call the Brees bucket, which contains both The Bad and the Beautiful as the title of one of my favorite movies goes.
One thing we’ve learned about Drew Brees this week: He’s a genius on the gridiron, not off field. Nobody should be surprised by this: the NFL is full of wingnutty white boys. Drew Brees is just one of many.
This episode is simultaneously saddening and maddening. The New Orleans Saints have long been a unifying force in our community. When owner Tom Benson threatened to move the team to his other hometown of San Antonio post-K, the community arose in such righteous indignation that they remained here. Saints fandom was an integral part of what I’ve previously referred to as The Spirit Of ’05.
Drew Brees’ first year with the Saints was 2006 and the team went to its first NFC Championship game. Then they won the Super Bowl after the 2009 season. This season there are high hopes, which, hopefully, will not be dashed on the rocks of controversy.
This mishigas is a vivid reminder of the perils of athletes dabbling in politics, particularly in the Trump era. If you take a stand, someone in your fan base will be offended. That’s especially true in New Orleans, which is a very blue city whereas the Gret Stet of Louisiana is ruby red.
Repeat after me: I’m disappointed by his wingnuttery but not surprised.
The last word goes to one of my favorite writers, the 13th Ward Rambler:
Does this alter my Saints fandom? Hell, no. Football is full of right-wing white boys and I’ve known for years that Drew Brees is one of them. Besides, his views on the Kaepernick kneeling contretemps were more nuanced than expected; he even criticized President* Trump. That’s why I have no plan to renounce my Saints fandom or return my tickets for the season opener.
I simply want to know if our QB is a wingnut or a conservative.
The answer is, alas, wingnut. As Stephanie put it, Drew Brees should have known better.
I pitched a biweekly column to my Bayou Brief editor and he bought it. It’s called 13th Ward Rambler because that’s my Uptown New Orleans neighborhood. Some times it will resemble Saturday Odds & Sods only without the GIFs and Separated at Birth. They’ll simply have to remain apart, the poor devils.
Another I reason I called the column 13th Ward Rambler is that it evokes the classic New Orleans tune, Didn’t He Ramble. As you’re well-aware, I’ve been known to ramble on occasion.
Heard was artistic license but Sharpies have been known to squeak. Squawk is a better word choice for what the Insult Comedian did after he was called out for providing false information on Hurricane Dorian. I follow Hurricane reportage very closely for obvious reasons. Alabama was never in the cone but Trump must always be right and cannot admit error.
This is the creepiest manifestation yet of Trump’s refusal to admit a mistake. This could have resulted in chaos and confusion in Alabama: that’s why I call him the Kaiser of Chaos. This is some dangerous, shit, yall.
Let’s face it: hardcore Trumpers are not the brightest bulbs in the hurricane lamp. Absent correction by the National Weather Service’s Birmingham office, they might have believed their Dear Leader. This what incompetent authoritarianism looks like.
This is some deranged shit, y’all. Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
Trump tweeted out a track that allegedly supported his preposterous position. All it did was show a few spaghetti models on August 28 that were headed towards Alabama and the Gret Stet of Louisiana for that matter. Alabama was never in the cone:
This was the originally projected path of the Hurricane in its early stages. As you can see, almost all models predicted it to go through Florida also hitting Georgia and Alabama. I accept the Fake News apologies! pic.twitter.com/0uCT0Qvyo6
Remember when Kellyanne Conway talked about alternative facts? This involves alternative tracks. I’m a bit disappointed that Trump didn’t lie about Dorian heading to the Gret Stet: both GOP goober candidates have their heads permanently wedged up his ass. Believe me.
This is some deranged shit, y’all. Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
Then there’s the matter of who can request that a POTUS declare a state of emergency in a given state. According to federal law, only a Governor can make such a request. The Governor of North Carolina is a Democrat, Roy Cooper. He made the request as required by law. Here’s how President* Pennywise spun it:
At the request of Senator Thom Tillis, I am getting the North Carolina Emergency Declaration completed and signed tonight. Hope you won’t need it!
Tillis is, of course, a Republican who is up for re-election in 2020.
This is some deranged shit, y’all. Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
The chart thing bugs the living shit out of me. As someone who was exiled from my home for six weeks in 2005, I take this personally. It’s not only illegal to deface a NWS chart and disseminate false information, it’s dangerous and delusional. What’s next? Is Trump going to nuke a future hurricane and claim he didn’t do it? He can’t say the dog ate his homework because he hates canines. My mother taught me never to trust someone who does not like dogs.
This is some deranged shit, y’all. Repeat after me: THE BOY AIN’T RIGHT.
One more hurricane related item. Anderson Cooper hosted a climate change thingamabob on CNN last night. One of the candidates for the Democratic nomination sounded like a Republican politician circa 2005-2006:
"If people want to rebuild in an area which will be devastated by the next storm, they're certainly not going to get federal assistance from my administration." -Sen. Sanders on changing FEMA rules to spur a retreat from properties suffering repeated losses. #ClimateTownHallpic.twitter.com/BC47QBZupm
Nelson Algren was known for his gritty novels. A Walk On The Wild Side was set in and around a New Orleans bordello. It was turned into a movie with an all-star cast in 1962. The producers dropped the A from the title. I did not.
The last word goes to Lou Reed with a song that has nothing to do with either the book or movie. It’s also not PC in 2019 but it’s still a good song:
Thus spake a cheeky Labour MP after Boris Johnson’s fledgling government went down to a major defeat in the House of Commons *and* lost their majority because of 21 defections from the Tory caucus. The “unknown” MP turned out to be veteran lefty and Commons heckler Dennis Skinner. That was my guess and, until proven otherwise, I was right. Hell, Skinner was known to heckle Tony Blair and Gordon Brown, which is one reason that he’s always been a backbencher.
The chaos in parliament continues today. Johnson wants new elections BUT needs the support of 2/3 of the Commons to go to the people. The Labour Party quite rightly refuses to support a snap election UNTIL the bill barring a No-Deal Brexit passes. The opposition has the hammer because of the 21 Tory rebels.
Among the rebels are two former Chancellors of the Exchequer: Ken Clarke and Philip Hammond. It’s very unusual for such eminent MPs to rebel and be denied the party whip. That’s a fancy way of saying that they were kicked out of the party they both served with such distinction. It’s something we’ll never see in the U.S. where the GOP has become the Party of Trump. Republicans don’t rebel because it’s in the national interest. They cringe and cower at the feet of the Insult Comedian. I wonder when Trump will disown Boris as a loser.
Since the situation is so fluid, I’m posting this before more shit hits the fan.
The news from the Bahamas is grim. Hurricane Dorian did more than leave the attic: it left devastation and suffering in its wake. That’s why I thought some comic relief was in order.
This is an oldish tweet but I just saw it the other day. If tweets can be eternal, this one qualifies. The clip is silent, which puts Tailgunner Ted and his bug in the company of other silent comics such as Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. Not really, but there’s no sound. That doesn’t bug me at all.
Pedro Bell’s cover artwork for George Clinton and his family of funk bands helped create their mythology. Bell called his art “scartoons,” I think of it as funk surrealism.
I had an idea for a post last night. I even dreamt about it but I never wrote it down. I have officially forgotten it, which means it wasn’t all that great to begin with.
In lieu of the lost post, it’s time to revisit a photo essay from Labor Day 2016. Consider it part of my continuing campaign to demystify what happened later that year. Hell, three of these candidates lost too but they fought the good fight.
September 5, 2016
Labor Day used to be the official kick-off of the general election campaign. It no longer is. Campaigns get longer every cycle and that’s not a good thing. It’s even worse this year because the conventions were so damn early. I’m taking today off from politics except for posting some election year photographs of Democratic nominees on Labor Day. I skipped the 1972 and 1976 nominees because neither McGovern nor Carter had warm relationships with labor. Besides, that would have been overkill. I picked 1984 as an cut-off since Fritz Mondale was the last nominee with close union ties.
We begin with Harry Truman in Detroit in 1948:
I couldn’t find a decent picture of Adlai Stevenson parading on Labor Day but here’s a shot of him with AFL-CIO chief George Meany and UAW President Walter Reuther. We’ll see both Meany and Walter later:
The year is 1960. The candidate is Jack Kennedy. The place is Cadillac Square in Detroit:
Lyndon Johnson marching in Detroit with Walter Reuther in 1964:
Next up is Hubert Humphrey on a New York reviewing stand in 1968 with ILGWU boss Louis Stulberg to his left and George Meany to his right:
We skip forward to 1984 to HHH’s protege, Walter Mondale with his running mate Geraldine Ferraro marching in the New York Labor Day parade:
