Monthly Archives: March 2012

03/17/2012
1 Comment
Cyndi Lauper, Dehydration, Domino's Pizza, Invisible Children, Jason Russell, Kony 2012, Love and Death, Masturbation, Paul Reubens, Pee-wee Herman, Viral Video, Woody Allen

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

The Countess: You are a great lover!

Boris: I practice a lot when I’m alone.

— Dialogue from Woody Allen‘s “Love and Death”

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FLYING SOLO

So, the guy who made that viral Kony video was caught in the self-service aisle in public in San Diego.

Man. Isn’t that the most humiliating scandal a human being could possibly endure?

Here’s the latest hot video on You Tube, (minus the tug action, natch):

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It’s even worse than the scandal poor Paul Reubens endured a little more than 20 years ago. Remember? Reubens was nabbed with his stage-namesake in his hand in a porn movie theater. Just in case you were living under a rock back then, Paul Reubens was Pee-wee Herman.

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If some evil mad scientist pointed a ray gun at me and said I’d have to make a choice between being torn to shreds by crocodiles or being caught masturbating in public, I’d still be sitting there in the crosshairs a half hour later trying to decide.

Reubens/Pee-wee at least was operating the joystick within the confines of an arena wherein that type of activity is considered sporting. This Jason Russell character, though, was scratching the itch while in the nude on a well-traveled big city street corner.

Russell

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The first reports on the Russell incident indicate that witnesses thought he was drunk or on drugs.

Trust me, if I were Russell I’d jump on that alibi like a hunk of floating debris in the middle of the Pacific. But his family hastened to shout out to the inquiring media that their dear boy has never, ever had a problem with drugs or alcohol and couldn’t possibly have been in an altered state at the time of the incident.

Gee thanks, mom and pop.

The statement issued by Russell’s family says he was suffering from dehydration. Now, I’ve suffered from dehydration a couple of times in my life and on neither occasion did the idea of yanking the package out for a little exercise cross my mind.

In fact, I’m willing to bet that of the seven billion souls alive on this planet at this time, the number who would buy that excuse is statistically negligible.

Anyway, my pal Anna in Los Angeles told me last night that she went to an Invisible Children event not long ago. Here’s the transcript of our chat about it (all sic):

Anna: invisible children had a screening of one of their films last year on campus…

this is when I was really broke, so i went for the free pizza…

and i can’t remember specifics, just that despite it’s obviously on the side of good, it was extremely manipulative and poorly structured…

i sat thru about a 1/2 hour of it before leaving…

and that 1/2 was more about the filmmakers than about the sudanese war and child soldiers.

but i’d had enough pizza by then.

me: At least you got pizza.

Anna: domino’s, but hey, food’s food.

The Kony 2012 thing has been called the single most viral video of all time. I have a feeling it’ll be a short-lived title-holder.

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SHE BOP

Out of the cesspool that was 80’s music (or should I say 80’s “music”?) Cyndi Lauper emerged as one of the very few recording artists whose cassette tapes were worth keeping.

For those of you who are younger than 35 or so, this was the fate of every music cassette ever manufactured:

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Now then, Lauper hit it huge with her song “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” back in 1983. A year later, she hit again with her ode to masturbation, “She Bop.”

Lauper never explicitly mentioned the art of self-love in the song because she wanted it to get widespread airplay. She once told Howard Stern that she’d hoped kids would interpret it to be about dancing and then, as they got older, they’d understand what it was really about.

Cyndi Lauper has never been caught masturbating in public.

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03/16/2012
3 Comments
Afghan Killings, Battle of Midway, Center for Southeast Asia, Curtis LeMay, David L. Jones, Hiroshima, Indiana University, Mark Twain, My Lai, Nagasaki, Nuclear Weapons, Operation Starvation, Robert McNamara, Studs Terkel, The Good War, The War Prayer, Tokyo Firebombing, World War II

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“O Lord our God, help us tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended in the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames in summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee of the refuge of the grave and denied it.

“For our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!

“We ask it in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts.

“Amen.” — Mark Twain, from his short story, “The War Prayer”

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FAIR IN WAR

David Jones, the recently retired director of Indiana University’s Center on Southeast Asia, shook his head  and muttered, “My god.”

He was thumbing through this morning’s paper in Soma Coffee and had come upon yet another story about that Army sergeant who apparently went out and systematically killed 16 civilians in Afghanistan.

House Of Death

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This latest bit that made Jones splutter was the suggestion that the as-yet unnamed sergeant was drunk when he committed the alleged deed.

Jones railed about what he perceives to be an attempt to excuse the soldier. He also expressed a fear that the incident may lead to a web of deceit or even unlock secrets about greater atrocities.

At which point, I mused that, rather than look for individual bad guys to string up, thereby making ourselves feel better about this nasty business of war, we ought to look upon the killings as a natural result of war.

War, I said, pushes all its participants to the edge of civility and even sanity. The most fragile of those participants, I concluded, often snap.

My Lai

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Were Jones an orator of my school, he would have said bullshit. Unfortunately, the vocabulary imposed upon him by academia precludes him from employing such piercing and effective terms.

Still, my hypothesis was, in Jones’s estimation, full of crap.

“Then we should have opened up the doors to all the jails that held those who participated in the Holocaust,” Jones said.

How can I argue with his point?

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OUR BASTARDS ARE MORE BRUTAL THAN YOUR BASTARDS

Studs Terkel called it “The Good War.” World War II often is seen as a battle of good versus evil.

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Really, all wars are carried out so that “good” will prevail. Leaders of nations are opportunistic and duplicitous, sure, but none has ever been so brazen as to try to convince his people they should sacrifice their lives because theirs is Lucifer’s mission.

But even the defeated Germans and Japanese today acknowledge that the beating they took in the 1940s was deserved.

The United States won its war with Japan for a variety of reasons. The outcome of the war, essentially, was sealed only six months after Pearl Harbor when the US Navy decimated the Japanese fleet at the Battle of Midway. Had Japanese leadership not been so bloodthirsty and ambitious, that nation would have sat down with the US to negotiate a peace soon after.

Midway

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But Japan didn’t. The war would rage on for another three years. Millions of lives were lost because the Japanese bosses couldn’t bear to accept reality.

It was feared that the only way to end the war would be to invade the Japanese mainland. That meant we needed a fighting force even more bloodthirsty than the Japanese had.

No one was more bloodthirsty than Curtis LeMay.

LeMay

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As a rising star in the Army Air Corps, LeMay earned a reputation as a demanding, innovative, brilliant, cutthroat strategist and leader. Robert McNamara described him in a report as “the finest combat commander of any service I came across in war. But he was extraordinarily belligerent, many thought brutal.”

LeMay was transferred from the European to the Pacific theater in 1944. He rose to become the commander of air operations against the Japanese mainland. In his new role, he instituted the practice of massive nighttime, low-altitude, incendiary bombing raids on Japanese cities.

Under this plan, American bombers attacked 64 Japanese metropolitan areas. Most Japanese housing was constructed of highly flammable wood and paper. The bombing raids, carried out from March through August, 1945, destroyed 40 percent of the structures in those cities.

That’s the equivalent of an enemy destroying almost half the land area of every US city ranked by population from New York to Anchorage, Alaska. One raid took place on March 10th over Tokyo. The ensuing firestorm killed 100,000 civilians and destroyed 250,000 buildings. Estimates of the number of civilians killed in all the raids range from a quarter to a half a million. Some five million Japanese were made homeless.

The Day After

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Another aspect of LeMay’s strategy was called Operation Starvation, aimed at disrupting Japan’s food distribution channels. Its name alone says all you need to know about it.

LeMay himself was quoted as saying he would have been tried as a war criminal had the US lost the war.

Then the United States dropped nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Those two attacks served as exclamation points for America’s argument that Japan should surrender unconditionally. The war ended six days after Nagasaki.

Punctuation

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The Good War.

Again, even the Japanese today agree that the good guys won.

Curtis LeMay, therefore, was one of the good guys.

War.

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03/15/2012
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Atheism, Black P Stones, Chicago Outfit, Clarence Darrow, David Coppedge, Intelligent Design, Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Latin Kings, Murray Humphreys, NASA, Paul "The Waiter" Ricca, Richard Dawkins, Richard J. Daley, Rod Blagojevich, Sam Adam Jr., Scopes Monkey Trial, Uncategorized, Vice Lords, Wrongful Termination

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“We are all atheists about most of the gods that societies have ever believed in. Some of us just go one god further.” ” Richard Dawkins

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OH, GOD

So, some god fetishist who got fired from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory for haranguing people with his myth-belief is suing NASA for wrongful termination.

David Coppedge says NASA tried to discipline him for spouting his fairy tale.

NASA says he created a hostile work environment for his underlings by laying Intelligent Design propaganda on them.

This is perfect, kiddies.

It’s the Battle of the Century. That is, the 11th Century versus the 21st Century.

Standing Tall Against Knowledge For A Thousand Years And Counting

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Democritus, Copernicus, Galileo, Darwin, and Sagan are all spinning in their graves. Hawking would spin if he could.

It’s god versus man in a cage match. The brain against the heart. Want a hint as to where I stand (as if you needed one)? The brain is the seat of thought; the heart is not. It’s a pump, dig?

I hope this lawsuit turns out to be as dramatic as the Scopes Monkey Trial some 90 years ago. I hope there’s a mouthpiece as deft and elequent as Clarence Darrow was. I hope NASA’s attorney puts Coppedge‘s lawyer on the witness stand. I can’t wait for the hologram movie about it all to come out in 50 years.

Who knows? Perhaps by that time we’ll have progressed so far as to tax churches. We may even have open atheists and agnostics running for high office. Our generals might not feel compelled to invoke the almighty to help us blow the brains out of enemy soldiers.

Nah.

I forgot; this is America.

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COLLEGE MAN

My old neighbor Rod R. Blagojevich gave his last press conference as a free man outside his home in Chicago yesterday.

The former governor of Illinois now begins his long stay at the federal hotel in Colorado. Or, as Outfit bosses used to put it, college. — as in, “Paul ‘The Waiter’ Ricca is still da man in dis operation, but he’s in college right now. Curly Humphreys is workin’ his ass off tryin’ to get him paroled.”

It’s funny: that’s the one thing Blagojevich was never accused of — playing footsie with the Chicago Mob. That’s probably only because the Chicago Mob was finished by the time Blago took over the state. Over. History, baby.

All the old Mustache Petes were long dead. Those who had been known as the Young Turks were either dead, senile, or in college.

“The Last Supper” Photo Of Chicago Outfit Bosses (c. 1978)

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Rod could have cleaned up had there been a lively Outfit to support him in his duties to the people of Illinois. The Outfit generally had county, state, and, on occasion, federal prosecutors in their back pockets. Judges and cops, too. Old Man Mayor Daley, the first pharaoh of Chicago, never made any bones about it — he had no choice but to work with the Outfit.

Now, thanks to the wonders of competitive capitalism, a Chicago mayor may work with any number of disciplined criminal organizations. There are, to name a few, the Latin Kings, the Vice Lords, and the Black P Stones. None of them, though, is as thorough and effective as the old Outfit.

None can point to their rolls and boast of a fixer as capable of gaming the political and justice system as Curly Humphreys.

Fixer Extraordinaire

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I’ll bet Rod Blagojevich rues the passing of the good old days.

Anyway, Blagojevich met the press and a passel of chanting supporters on Francisco Avenue yesterday. It was a circus. And Rod was the clown.

You’d expect a guy facing a stiff prison sentence to act somewhat contrite. Hell, most people would have the good sense to fake it if they still harbored thoughts of the unfairness of it all.

Not Rod.

He sounded more like a man running for another term in office rather than a convicted felon about to start a term in the joint.

What — Me Worry?

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“I believe,” he told the crowd, “I always, always, thought about what’s right for the people. And I am proud as I leave, and enter the next part of what is a dark and hard journey, that I can take with me the sense of accomplishment and a real belief that the things that I did as governor and the things that I did as a congressman actually helped real, ordinary people…. One thing I had a lot of was a desire to help average, ordinary people.”

Later, as he climbed into the car that would take him to O’Hare Airport and his flight to the federal pen, he said he had “a clear conscience and I have high, high hopes for the future.”

Wow.

Not a hint that he might have done one or two things differently during his term as the top influence peddler in Illinois. Not a breath that he even should have tempered his language, that maybe his faux tough guy, street wise lingo could have been misinterpreted. No.

“I’ve got this thing and it’s fucking golden, and, uh, uh, I’m just not giving it up for fuckin’ nothing. I’m gonna do it. And, and I can always use it.”

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Blagojevich spent his last day as a free man telling reporters, neighbors, and supporters what a terrific servant of the people he’s always been.

Man.

I’ll tell you one thing I learned yesterday. Blagojevich’s defense attorney, Sam Adam Jr., blew his best shot to get his client off. He should have advised Rod R. Blagojevich to plead not guilty by reason of insanity.

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03/14/2012
1 Comment
Billy Wilder, First Love, Folsom Prison Blues, George W. Bush, Iraq War, Johnny Cash, Lady Gaga, Mitt Romney, Rick Santorum, Rod Blagojevich, Ronald Reagan, Vincent Van Gogh

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.” — Billy Wilder

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PRELUDE TO MASS SUICIDE

Hah! And you thought I was being obsessive by devoting so much of this space to those two execrable professional virgins who sing about Rick Santorum.

All I know is this morning’s TV and radio reports on the victories of god’s candidate in yesterday’s Mississippi and Alabama primaries feature snippets of the song. It has now earned the imprimatur of the corporate media.

First Love, my dear friends, has arrived.

“I Know What’s Best For Your Uterus!”

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And if, by some sick turn of history, the closeted candidate goes into the Republican convention with a chance to unseat putative front runner Willard Romney, the First Love earworm will become a pandemic.

Lady Gaga will wish she’d thought of penning a ballad extolling a rollback of reproductive rights and drooling over the dyed and addled Ronald Reagan.

[Headslap] “I Coulda Had An Earworm Hit!”

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KING OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC

Just in case you missed it, Willard won the caucuses in Hawai’i and American Samoa last night. Game On!

“Thank You, My Fellow Samoans!”

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THE ILLINOIS GUBERNATORIAL RETIREMENT PLAN

I met Rod Blagojevich the day he started campaigning for a seat in the Illinois House back in 1992.

It was a sunny Monday morning and this earnest-looking guy in a nicely pressed suit and a helmet of hair was handing out flyers in front of the Francisco stop on the Ravenswood el line. I looked at the photo on the flyer and then at the guy and said, “Hey, this is you.”

Vote For Me, I’ll Set You Free

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He got a big kick out of that. He flashed a smile that almost blinded me. Lucky I was wearing sunglasses.

He told me why he was the best candidate for the office. He seemed so serious and honest and self-effacing. He made a lot of people think that of him over the years.

He told me he was a neighbor. The Blagojeviches lived a block and a half away from me, on Francisco Avenue. I’d pass his house every time I walked down to the convenience store for a newspaper or an ice cream bar. His bungalow was notable in that it was surrounded by a tall, black metal fence, the kind Mayor Daley had given a sweetheart contract to one of his donor/cronies to surround every park in the city with. I guess Blagojevich figured he ought throw a little business that guy’s way as well.

Rod Blagojevich was nothing if not politically astute.

Well, to a point.

He turned awfully stupid when he was taped by federal prosecutors trying to sell President-elect Barack Obama’s US Senate seat.

Not Free

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Today he goes into the slammer for that and other crimes. He’ll serve about 12 years of his 14-year sentence in a minimum security facility outside Denver.

I needn’t recount all his in-office malfeasances and felonies here. Nor will I list all his embarrassing media exploits since being convicted in his impeachment trial in 2009.

I’ll only point this out; it may be his most despicable crime. In October 2002, Rod Blagojevich was the only Illinois Democrat in the US Congress to vote in favor of the authorization of George Bush’s bullshit Iraq war.

Enjoy your twelve year stay in the federal B&B, Rod baby, you earned it.

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FOLSOM PRISON BLUES

Dedicated to my ex-state legislator, ex-congressman, ex-governor, and ex-neighbor Rod R. Blagojevich.

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03/13/2012
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al-Qur'an, Arcadia Publishing, Boardwalk Park, Book Corner, Book of Love, Buckinghams, David Ward-Steinman, Edmund Burke, Hammond Indiana, Jacobs School of Music, Madura's Danceland, Mick Madura, Mike Madura, Monotones, Patrice Madura Ward-Steinman

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“Society can overlook murder, adultery, or swindling; it never forgives preaching of a new gospel.” — Edmund Burke

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TEEN DREAM

Imagine being a 12- or 13-year-old in the mid-1960s and your daddy-o is the biggest music impresario in town.

Imagine being able to say to your grade school chums that you see the guys from the Buckinghams or the American Breed or Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs or the Kingsmen all the time.

The Buckinghams

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Oh yeah, you could crow, I brought them Cokes when they were waiting around to go onstage at my dad’s place.

That’s the life Patrice Madura Ward-Steinman lived until a summer Sunday morning in 1967.

Patrice’s pop owned Madura’s Danceland in Hammond, Indiana just outside Chicago.

I met Patrice and her husband David Ward-Steinman yesterday at the Book Corner. They’d dropped by to see how her book was doing. Authors like to do that: It’s as though they’re visiting their children at college. Nancy Hiller or Michael Koryta or Joy Shayne Laughter will stop in here to visit their books.

Patrice’s book is called “Madura’s Danceland,” natch. It’s part of Arcadia Publishing Company‘s Images of America series, each title of which covers a city or region’s local history. There’s a Bloomington and Indiana University title available, for instance. The books are heavy with photographs — Patrice said she had to come up with more than 150 pix for her book.

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She dug through her family’s keepsakes and put the call out to old friends and fans of Danceland for photos she could use. The book covers the history of Madura’s from its opening in October, 1929 through the day it closed.

Patrice today is a professor at the Jacobs School of Music, specializing in choral music, jazz, and jazz history. She knows her stuff.

Her grandfather, Mike Madura, had managed a roller rink on the shores of Wolf Lake, which straddles the state border with Illinois. As time went by he began to present musical acts at the rink, which held about a thousand people. A few years later he bought a dance hall that was standing on the site of the old Boardwalk amusement park in Hammond. The Lever Brothers soap-making oufit had bought the park and was planning to build a factory on the site. So after purchasing it, Mike had it moved by a team of horses to a new location a few blocks away and scheduled a fall grand opening.

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A list of the acts that played at Madura’s reads like a who’s who of American pop music for the four decades it was in business. There were the orchestras of Paul Whiteman, Fletcher Henderson, Jimmy Dorsey, Tex Beneke, Russ Morgan, Guy Lombardo, and too many others to recount here from the big band era. Conway Twitty, Bobby Vee, and Bobby Goldsboro played there in the ’60s.

The place once drew a crowd of some 7000 for a dance broadcast live on Chicago’s WIND radio. Couples glided over a “spring-cushioned” dance floor.

Mike’s kid, also named Mike but more commonly referred to as Mick, worked as a radio announcer in his early 20s. Mick, who was kidnapped by mobsters in 1934, eventually took over Danceland. Mick put his whole family to work in the place, including his youngest kid, Patrice.

The whole operation came to a halt when a bolt of lightning during a summer storm started a fire that destroyed Madura’s Danceland on July, 29, 1967.

Patrice has photos of that sad day, too. They’re all in the book.

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GOD’S HIT MEN

We are a weird, weird species, no?

A few weeks ago, some knuckleheaded American soldiers burned copies of al-Qur’ān and tossed the identifiable remains in the garbage can outside Bagram air base near Kabul, Afghanistan.

I call them knuckleheaded because they should have known doing such a thing would turn Southwest Asia’s religious zealots even more goggle-eyed than they already are. As if on cue, Islamic protesters took to the streets to express their outrage over the incident.

Dozens of people were killed in the ensuing “protest.” The festivities even spilled over into neighboring Pakistan.

Flash forward to this week. An apparently lunatic US soldier snuffed out the lives of 16 townsfolk in a couple of villages in southern Afghanistan. The soldier’s killing spree also has ignited protests. And, again, many Pakistanis are getting into the act.

But here’s the weird, weird part: this week’s reaction has so far been remarkably muted compared to the al-Qur’ān burning bloodfest.

I suppose the message the protesters are sending is that they’re saddened and outraged by the killing of innocents.

But they’re mortified — hell, they’re driven mad — by the desecration of a book that, by the way, can be purchased at any bookstore or mosque in Afghanistan, Pakistan, or, for that matter, any country in the world. Hell, Barnes & Noble sells al-Qur’āns right here in good old Indiana. al-Qur’an is available for free on the internet.

With more than a billion adherents of Islam populating this funny world, it’s a safe bet that there are hundreds and hundreds of millions of copies of the text in circulation.

Those 16 men women and children that a so-far unidentified US Army sergeant is alleged to have murdered each were unique — except, of course, in the eyes of a man driven mad by war.

In the wild world of religious zealotry, though, a mass-produced, bound stack of papers is far more dear than 16 human beings. Hell, it may mean more than every living soul on Earth.

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BOOK OF LOVE

The Monotones wondered who wrote it back in 1957.

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03/12/2012
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Batchelor Middle School, Boone's Farm Apple Wine, Camille Harris, Clearisil, Confession, Elvis Presley, Fenwick High School, First Love, Flip Wilson, Haley Harris, Jailhouse Rock, Marcus Welby MD, Patti Smith, Rick Santorum

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“I think I’m constantly in a state of adjustment.” — Patti Smith

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GO AND SIN NO MORE

Now, that’s more like it.

My soul has been cleansed by yesterday’s act of public contrition. Confession, you might call it, albeit a secular form of the holy Catholic rite. Isn’t that what the Internet and blogging are for? To bare one’s soul, to let the world know of one’s triumphs and foibles, to shout out to upward of a billion wired citizens of Earth what one ate for breakfast this morning?

Yes, I experienced catharsis by proclaiming to the Internet-connected inhabitants of this little blue dot that I should not have wished to pummel the faces of those two smug little shits whose lyrical ode to Rick Santorum has become a You Tube/Facebook sensation.

Looking For A Strong Man To Tell Them What To Do With Their Wombs

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Confession. Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has, in fact, been 42 years since my last confession.

Yep, I did it last in my freshman year at Fenwick High School, all-boys at the time, a highly disciplined college prep school for which my parents scrimped and saved to pay the $675 annual tuition, at the time a princely sum.

They did it so I could spend my days around a better class of juveniles than the hoodlums whom I’d begun to join nightly behind the fieldhouse at Amundsen Park, where we smoked cigarettes, drank Boone’s Farm Apple Wine, and engaged in the occasional fistfight.

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A mere two weeks after school had started in that September of 1970, my father and I attended the Father and Son Communion Breakfast. A confessional box was set up just outside the Boulevard Room where the Mass was to be held, a convenience for all those high-achievement daddy-os whose jobs were too demanding for them to get to confession earlier in the week.

My old man said, “Do you need to go to confession?” It was more an accusation than a question. I nodded yes and so he and I both got into line. We waited a few minutes for the bankers and real estate execs ahead of us to unburden themselves of the sin, presumably, of keeping Chicagoland the most segregated metropolitan area in the nation.

What my father had to confess I could not speculate. He worked all day at a cardboard box factory, came home after dark, ate dinner, donned his Bermuda shorts, slipped his socks just over his heels but left them on to keep his toes warm as he lay back in his recliner to watch the “Flip Wilson Show” or “Marcus Welby, MD.” Within 15 minutes he’d be snoring, his toasty toes pointed toward heaven.

Flip Wilson (As Geraldine) With Burt Reynolds

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“Joe!” my mother would yell, eliciting from him an alarmed snort. “For chrissakes, I can’t even hear the TV!” At which point he’d stop snoring, shift in his chair, and promptly re-commence his apneal symphony within a minute or two.

What in Our Father’s name did he have to confess? I couldn’t know at the time; I would learn many years later.

A more compelling question was, What did I have to confess? I was a 14-year-old dweeb, wearing horn-rimmed glasses, having a slight problem with acne (concealed, or so I thought, by the pancake layer of Clearisil I wore on my face) and still a good five years away from my very first sexual experience — with another person, that is.

Fighting The Good Fight

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Well, there you go — I could have confessed any or all of the several thousand times I’d engaged in self-pollution since my previous confession but, of course, I didn’t. How could I tell a priest that I touched myself?

(Lucky I was skittish about it — he might have interpreted such a confession as a come-on.)

“… And Then There Was The Time With The French Bread….”

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All I remember is I told him some generic, made-up stuff — I disobeyed my parents and I lied three times. Yeah, that was my last confession.

Until yesterday. Phew. If I believed in god, I’d feel forgiven. If I believed I had a soul, I’d be certain it was spotless.

I believe in the Internet, though. I’ve got my Comcast broadband bill right here on my desk.

Forgive me, Page Viewers, for I have sinned.

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YOU ARE HEREBY REMANDED BY THIS COURT TO THE CUSTODY OF….

The first time The Loved One and I ever passed Batchelor Middle School on Bloomington’s west side, I pointed at the facility and said, “Oh look, there’s a state prison.”

No joke. The two of us had to pass the joint by again yesterday, on the way to TLO’s friend’s house. It still looks like a correctional institution.

I ask you this: What sort of cruel school board would hire such a sadistic architect to design the grim, forbidding gulag that is the Batchelor Middle School?

From my own experience I know that the difference between dropping out and staying in school can hinge on the slightest factor. A mean teacher. An episode of harassment.

How about reporting every morning to a featureless concrete blockhouse set far back in a field as if to protect the surrounding environs from the inmates within?

I know if I were a Batchelor inmate, I could easily be walking toward the place one day and suddenly stop and say to myself, “Screw it.”

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JAILHOUSE ROCK

The culture of an entire society can change within a single lifetime. Want proof?

Check this vid.

Number 47 said to Number 3

You’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see.

I sure would be delighted with your company

Come on and do the jailhouse rock with me.

It should be noted that as Elvis sings that fourth line, he’s thrusting his hips.

Jailhouse Rock, 1957: a movie scene for teenaged girls to swoon over.

Jailhouse Rock, 2012: incidental music for streaming gay porn

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03/11/2012
3 Comments
Aretha Franklin, Camille Harris, First Love, Haley Harris, Katharine Hepburn, Regret, Rick Santorum

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“I have many regrets, and I’m sure everyone does. The stupid things you do, you regret, if you have any sense. And if you don’t regret them, maybe you’re stupid.” — Katharine Hepburn

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NO HITTING

Short and bittersweet today.

I woke up in the middle of the night and it hit me: Writing that I’d like to punch the faces of those two little flamboyant virgins who sing about Rick Santorum was the wrong thing to do.

Loathsome, Yes; Punching Bags, No

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It was the equivalent of making a Hitler and the Jews joke or saying I hope a gay guy gets AIDS. Everybody might know I don’t mean it but, still….

So, even though I still detest Camille and Haley Harris, I don’t wish violence upon them.

No matter how privileged and entitled they are, and no matter their obvious obliviousness to the plight of people less fortunate than they are, they don’t deserve punches in their faces.

On the other hand, if the two Santorum balladeers one day happen to be walking down the street and a car zooms by, splashes through a muddy puddle, and the two get drenched in muck, I’d be pleased.

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THINK

Yup. Most times, the second thought is the smart one.

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03/10/2012
1 Comment
Book Corner, Caveat Emptor (Bookseller), Curt Flood, Earworm, First Love, Here Comes The Sun, Janis Starcs, Porky Pig, Rick Santorum, Ronald Reagan, Saul Alinsky, WFIU

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“I was told by the general manager that a white player had received a higher raise than me. Because white people required more money to live than black people. That’s why I wasn’t going to get a raise.” — Curt Flood

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HERE COMES THE SUN

The second-best bookstore in town is Janis Starcs’ Caveat Emptor.

Trust me, this is no backhanded compliment. Naturally, I’m going to vote for the Book Corner as the best in town. So, my choice for number two in Bloomington is really high praise.

You’ll find stuff in Caveat that you won’t find anywhere else in Indiana, I dare say. For instance, if you’re looking for any of the works by seminal community organizer Saul Alinsky, it’s a good bet they’re on Janis’s shelves.

Starcs In His Milieu

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That said, Signor Starcs may be one of the most curmudgeonly humans in South Central Indiana. And that’s no insult, either.

He possesses a virtually encyclopedic knowledge of books and he stays out of his customers’ way. Just be prepared when you ask for help: the answer will be authoritative and direct — but it will be terse.

You ever hear the old line about the loquacious man who, whenever somebody asks him the time, he tells them how a watch is made?

Janis Starcs is not that guy. He is, in fact, the precise opposite.

If you ask him what time it is, he’ll likely point at the sun, the unspoken instruction being, Figure it out.

It’s part of his odd charm.

Anyway, this (Saturday) morning, the WFIU booth announcer was talking about the day’s sponsors. And at one point, he said, “In appreciation of a contribution to this station we present today’s programming in honor of the birthday of Janis Starcs.”

Janis Starcs? I can’t imagine him calling up the radio station and saying, “I’d like to donate a hundred dollars in honor of my birthday. Now make sure to mention my name, okay?”

Even more astounding would be that someone else would kick a c-note over to the local NPR station in Starcs’ honor.

But wait. It gets more bizarre.

The announcement was followed immediately by the bumper song, “Here Comes the Sun.”

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This is a funny town.

If you stop in at Caveat Emptor Monday, wish Janis a belated happy birthday. Then ask him what time it is.

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“GOD GAVE THE BILL OF RIGHTS”

Sweet lord above, have you seen that song about Rick Santorum that’s going viral-ish on Facebook and You Tube?

A couple of flamboyant virgins from Oklahoma sing about god’s candidate. They’re called First Love, which is sort of a creepy name considering they’re Christian singers and have penned a heartthrob lilt dedicated to this holy land’s most prominent closeted man.

Apparently, First Love wrote and recorded the song Sunday night and Monday morning. Then, their aiders and abettors made the video Monday afternoon. By Tuesday the thing was all the rage.

I’m posting the vid here because I’m a vengeful man. A few FB friends posted it and, unfortunately, I listened to it. It’s been a goddamned earworm ever since.

If I have to suffer through it, so do you.

Misery loves company, babies.

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Sample lyric:

Oh, there is hope for our nation again,

Maybe for the first time since we had Ronald Reagan.

Here’s a confession: I’m not normally a violent man but the minute I laid eyes on these two smug little shits I want to punch them repeatedly. Sorry.

Do I have to justify the above statement? Okay. They’re the whitest people I’ve ever seen. And that’s no compliment. They radiate a privileged aura that says, Hey, everything’s just ducky from my vantage point, so why are all you poor people complaining?

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TAKE IT AWAY, PORKY

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03/09/2012
1 Comment
1 Percent, 99 Percent, Billionaires, Chambers Brothers, Forbes Magazine, Game Change, HBO, John McCain, Julianne Moore, Lester Chambers, Malcolm X, Marijuana, Occupy Wall Street, Pat Robertson, Patti Smith, R.E. Paris, Roger Ebert, Sarah Palin, Viral Video, You Tube

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“If you’re not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.” — Malcolm X

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THE ANNUAL ELECTRON PENCIL PENNILESS LIST

What a coincidence!

Only two days after Forbes Magazine released its yearly list of the world’s billionaires, we at The Electron Pencil proudly present our inaugural annual roster of broke Americans.

Forbes Got Nuthin’ On Us

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(We are working with our crack legal team to determine if we have a case against Forbes. It is our assertion that Forbes intentionally scheduled its release to upstage our eagerly awaited list of the Penniless. Stayed tuned for more developments.)

Several of the Forbes select few have expressed displeasure at having information about their personal finances splashed all over magazines, newspapers, radio, and TV. Our lucky few are circumspect as well. In fact, each of them has pleaded with us not to reveal their identities or net worth.

Forbes Porn

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But we are nothing if not tireless, intrepid journalists. Our commitment to unearth the truth no matter the consequences must trump their desire for privacy. As a compromise, we will not use the full names of our honorees.

Now then, here is The Annual Electron Pencil Penniless List:

  • Ronald H.: A talented jazz saxophonist, Mr. H. recently moved out of his cozy pied-à-terre on the west side of Bloomington. He is now “traveling.” In other words, he is homeless. Mr. H. was ousted from his position as Vice President of Facilities Maintenance for a local elementary school last spring. He was a casualty of school budget cuts. He carries the entirety of his possessions in his backpack which has a missing zipper. Sharp-eyed passersby can catch glimpses of Mr. H.’s holdings when his backpack flap flips open. He is considered among the most open and transparent of our 2012 honorees.
  • Miranda P.: She and her two children — Zach, 5, and Lily, 3 — also are “traveling.” Mrs. P. is currently in the process of dissolving her partnership with Joshua P., who last December attempted a hostile takeover of her finances. Mr. P. at the time was putting together a straight cash transaction for sub-legal pharmaceuticals. When Mrs. P. rejected his entreaties for her cash, he threatened and eventually carried out a night-time assault upon her face. Mrs. P.’s jaw was wired shut and the discoloration around her eyes lasted well into the new year. Middle Way House now serves as temporary headquarters for Mrs. P.’s break-away firm.
  • Jeremy M.: Mr. M.’s home was ranked number one in Car and Driver’s 1992 Best Selling Cars list. His curbfront domicile is known popularly among neighbors as as “that damned red Taurus.” He inherited it from his grandfather who passed away in 2006 while Mr. P. was finishing up his master’s degree in fine arts. Mr. P. is looking to diversify by applying for work at Rally’s Hamburgers, Kroger on 2nd Street, and the Subway at Walnut and 6th streets. Some observers say Mr. P.’s total wealth has been adversely affected by his ill-advised leveraging of student loans to acquire his degree. Mr. P. has responded that his degree has been valued in certain quarters at $1.7 million over his lifetime, as opposed to his total debt load of $53,000. Mr. P. was recently seen purchasing a rare pair of red Chuck Taylors at the Salvation Army Thrift Store on North Rogers Street.
  • Kevin W.: A pioneer in the field of bipolar disorder patientry, Mr. W. visits the four corners of Bloomington on his daily perambulations. He is known far and wide as an often accessible member of the local penniless community. He has made enemies, though, during the days before he receives his monthly dosage of lithium. Mr. W. impresses with his ability to identify the day of the week of any random date a questioner might suggest. Some analysts believe this indicates he also possesses a form of Asperger’s Syndrome which would help solidify his inclusion in future Penniless lists.
  • Jana C.: A long-time leader in the local physical pleasure industry, Ms. C. recently became affiliated with Narcotics Anonymous and has indicated she may be looking to move on to other fields. Her ambitions may be tempered by the pressing needs of members of the housing, utilities, and grocery industries for immediate remuneration for services and goods. When her liquidity sank to an all-time low in February, Ms. C. confided to close friends that she may never be entirely free to leave the sex industry.

We salute our Penniless achievers.

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TIME IS NOT MONEY

Speaking of the penniless, our go-to researcher R.E. Paris points out that Lester Chambers of the 1960’s power soul group, the Chambers Brothers, has fallen on the hardest of times.

Chambers posted an Occupy Wall Street-type letter on You Tube describing his unfortunate state this week. The post went viral.

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Chambers says the recording contract he and his band mates signed in the mid-60’s screwed him out of royalties. He writes, “Only 1% of artists can sue. I am the 99%.”

The Electron Pencil ran a video of the Chambers Brothers’ hit, “Time Has Come Today,” earlier this year.

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POT IS MONEY

So, the spectacularly crazed Pat Robertson has come out in favor of the legalization of marijuana.

Wild, huh?

Maybe no so wild when you think about it. Perhaps the human race’s pipeline to the creator of the universe has concluded that too many of his hard-pressed contributors are turning to pot harvesting for him to continue being a prohibitionist.

Pat Knows: You Can’t Contribute If You’re In The Joint

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Frankly, this development bums me out, man. I’ve been for the legalization of pot for decades. Sadly, now that Pat Robertson is as well, I’ll have to change my position.

Damn.

Come to think of it, doesn’t he look sorta high in the photo on the link?

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CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF SARAH

Roger Ebert digs the new HBO movie about Sarah Palin. Actually, “Game Change” is supposed to be about the failed 2008 run of John McCain for president but, honestly, McCain wasn’t the story at all.

I’m tempted to watch the movie but the casting of Julianne Moore as the winking dolt is problematic for me: I like Moore and I’d hate to have her associated with the New White Oprah from now on.

No, Julianne, No!

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Too bad the producers couldn’t get Palin to play herself. Ebert describes her as “the greatest actress in American political history.”

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ASK THE ANGELS

Patti Smith, babies.

Across the country, through the fields,

You know I see it written ‘cross the sky.

People rising from the highway

And war, war is the battle cry

And it’s wild, wild, wild, wild.

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03/07/2012
2 Comments
A Home of Her Own, Abortion, Arianna Huffington, Bernard Levin, Bill Clinton, Dennis Kucinich, Grouseland Rifle, Huffington Post, Indiana State Gun, Indianapolis Star, Lewis Black, Marcy Kaptur, Michael Huffington, Mitch Daniels, Nancy R. Hiller, Peggy Welch, Rick Santorum, Rockefeller Republican, Rush Limbaugh, Shapiro's Deli, Single Parent, Vi Simpson

The Pencil Today:

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THE QUOTE

“Republicans have nothing but bad ideas and Democrats have no ideas.” — Lewis Black

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OFFICIAL STATE GUN BILL REQUIRES A SEQUEL

So, the deep thinkers who populate the statehouse have sent a bill to Governor Mitch Daniels’ desk declaring something known as the Grouseland Rifle as the Official Indiana State Gun.

Daniels is expected to sign the bill.

A Hoosier Treasure

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I hereby request my local state legislators, Vi Simpson and Peggy Welch, co-sponsor a follow-up bill that names an Official State Gunshot Wound.

I’ve done a little (believe me, a very little) research on the topic. According to the National Institutes of Health, the most common gunshot wounds occur in the extremities. Why? Search me.

Perhaps too many people who have no formal training mess around with firearms.

So, I suggest the Official State Gunshot Wound be a hole blown in the shooter’s own left biceps. Every time an aspiring gun lover accidentally puts a slug in his own arm, he’ll be brought to Indianapolis to display his wound to legislators. His photo will appear in the Indy Star, he’ll be taken for a nice lunch at Shapiro’s Deli, and he’ll get two free tickets to whatever game is in season.

And A Treasured Wound

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He’ll be declared a True Hoosier, an honor I just invented. As such, he’ll receive a plaque as well as a little sticker he can affix to his drivers license.

Hoosier pride.

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FAREWELL, LITTLE GUY

Super Tuesday, huh? Not so super for good old Dennis Kucinich. Perhaps the only remaining unabashed liberal (or progressive, or whatever) politician left in this holy land, Kucinich lost his Democratic primary battle with fellow Congressbeing Marcy Kaptur.

K & K: House Colleagues No More

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Redistricting had combined Kucinich and Kaptur’s districts and the longest-serving woman in Congress wiped the floor with her opponent in her home county, providing her margin of victory.

Kucinich was probably the one national pol nearest to me in philosophy, save for his initial antediluvian views on abortion. He was a strong opponent of the Iraq War, pushed for universal health care, was big on workers’ rights, and even once proposed a Cabinet-level Department of Peace. Still, I never would have wanted him to be president.

He ran for the White House, you know, in 2004. That’s when he suddenly realized he was for abortion rights. I don’t demand that my fave pols walk in lockstep with me on every single issue, and I suppose I cut Kucinich slack because his early abortion stance likely was based upon the ideal Roman Catholic notion of respect for all life. He did oppose the death penalty as well so he seemed to be consistent in that regard.

But President Kucinich? Never. He would have been chewed up and spit out by the big-money boys. That’s the sad thing about today’s America, I guess. The nearest we can ever come to having a real liberal (or progressive, or whatever) in the White House would be the pair of Rockefeller Republicans who’ve carried the Democratic banner to victory in the last 20 years.

Anyway, Kucinich’ll be gone from Washington come the new year. And the nation continues its inexorable move to the right.

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STAND-UP RICK

Come on admit it: With Rick Santorum’s chances of gaining the Republican nomination fading ever so gradually, you know you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

As long as it remains highly unlikely he’ll ascend to the chancellorship in November, Santorum serves as the evil jester of the 2012 presidential race.

Take these little tidbits dug up by the folks at Mother Jones. When Rickey-baby was running for Senator from Pennsylvania back in 1994, he had lots to say about single mothers. Not that theirs was a thankless task, nor that we as a people ought to lend a hand to women trying to raise families and keep jobs without the assistance of partner daddy-o’s.

Wrecking The Nation

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No. Santorum told supporters at one point, “We are seeing the fabric of this country fall apart, and it’s falling apart because of single moms.”

Oh.

A couple of weeks later, he amplified this view. “What we have,” he explained, “is moms raising children in single-parent households simply breeding more criminals.”

Let’s not even trouble ourselves with his faulty logic and his obsessive need to blame people’s sexual behavior for everything that’s wrong in the lord god’s creation. Just consider his use of the word breeding.

You know, as in what we humans do with livestock.

Breeding

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There are a million scary places in this world but the scariest of all just might be the inner recesses of Rick Santorum’s mind.

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THE HILLER POST

Bloomington’s own Nancy Hiller writes in her blog about the first time she saw Arianna Huffington speak publicly back in 1978.

The young Huffington took to the rostrum in England, where Hiller spent part of her callow youth. Hiller writes glowingly of the then-28-year-old future media magnate. Hiller also expresses gratitude for The Huffington Post naming her tome, “A Home of Her Own,” one of its Books We Love last year.

Now, Hiller’s the ideal role model for young girls. She has struck out on her own to create a successful business, she makes art, and she has thrived in a trade usually dominated by men.

It’s understandable that Hiller would speak kindly of Huffington, who also has made it big in a man’s world. I’m happy Hiller’s getting ink (and electrons) for her terrific book. And, hell, I’m a regular reader of The Huffington Post. But I’m gonna throw a bucket of ice water on this Arianna love fest.

Born Arianna Stassinopoulos, she has been working her way up the ranks of the world’s most opportunistic human beings for all of her 61 years. She has tied her star to men who could advance her career since she was a schoolgirl.

Fresh out of college, she hooked up with British television personality Bernard Levin, known as the most famous UK journalist of his day. He was also a game show panelist. She helped Levin become an adherent of a woo religion and he helped her write books and get them published. She called him the love of her life.

In the mid ’80s, she took a job as the closeted wannabe-politician Michael Huffington’s beard. She got tired of that charade in 1997 but has been known as Arianna Huffington ever since.

Huffington started her American media career as a conservative commentator when Bill Clinton was in office. Lots of conservative talking heads made hay back then. But as time passed and it appeared there was only room for the likes of Rush Limbaugh and some other blowhards, she switched to the liberal side. It was an inspired career move.

She started up The Huffington Post and built it into a powerhouse. She sold the shebang in 2011 for $315M. That’s a pretty nifty payday. Oh yes, payday. A concept whose absence she employed to make that concern wildly successful. Arianna Huffington was a capitalist visonary: she finally found the way to get labor to work for free.

I suppose what I’m really trying to say is Nancy Hiller is a far better person than Arianna Huffington.

It’s Huffington who should be expressing admiration for Hiller rather than vice-versa.

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