At some point during the HBO broadcast of Obama’s inaugural celebration — I think it was when Bettye LaVette and Jon Bon Jovi, of all people, took “A Change is Gonna Come” to a new place — Alan expressed relief that Obama had won the election. Otherwise, he said, we might have been watching Kobe Teeth, Hank Jr. and other Sarah Palin-approved entertainers kick out the jams for the Real America.
Say whatever you want about Democrats, but we generally put on a better show.
I’ll shut up now.
But I thought the “This Land is Your Land” performance was fantastic.
OK, now I’ll shut up.
My favorite verse in “This Land is Your Land”
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said “No Trespassing.”
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
Woody, you old Commie, you. Now I’ll shut up.
But where were the Dixie Chicks?
OK. Shutting up now.
Why should I shut up, after all? Out of sensitivity to my half-dozen Republican friends? Knowing they’re seething, watching all this? Their gloom is something to behold, after all; I look around at the blogs and see a range of emotions from grim resignation to outright hostility (with a few outliers like Jeff TMMO, who has the audacity of hope). Here’s my problem: I have empathy. I know just how they feel, although I like to think that if I were Peggy Noonan, and had previously embarrassed myself with a toe-curling passage about the beauty of Ronald Reagan’s foot, I’d hold off writing that presidents are just men, after all, and those feet turn out to be made of clay. For a while, anyway.
It’s no fun to see the wrong guy win. So now they get to see what that’s like. Although I wonder about their perception, frankly. The other day I noticed the Journal Gazette, the other paper in Fort Wayne, the one I didn’t work for, has a Facebook page. I was reading its Wall posts, and came across this comment from a reader:
To be honest, I am not really a big fan of this newspaper. The editorial board is a throwback to marxist ideology.
I checked the Marxist editorial page. In a random sample, I found approval of two police shootings of civilians, approval of the Republican governor’s State of the State address, and… oh wait, here’s some Marxism — an endorsement that lawmakers consider residents’ opinions in setting school policy, and disapproval of administering the death penalty to a batshit-crazy multiple murderer (who was, of course, found fit to stand trial).
In other words, I don’t trust these folks’ baseline brain power.
Oh, well. Let’s enjoy these special few days before we can return to the utter delamination of our economy and individual job situations.
Farewell to abstinence-only education, and good riddance. I mean, I hope the other drivers on the road are safe operators, but I still wear my seatbelt, too.
Michael Kinsley asks the whimsical question: Just who is the voice of God? Answer: James Earl Jones, with Morgan Freeman as an understudy. Hollywood always has fun with God depictions, at least post-“The Ten Commandments.” Look, God is George Burns, a little old man with a little old man voice! And so on. Tell me, though: Won’t you be disappointed if you go to heaven and discover God’s voice is that of Bradley Schlozman?
I know what it’s like to be out of work and I empathize, so this is reported straight-up: The Wingnut Welfare Train is fully booked, seek alternate transportation. That is all.