Category Archives: John Hamilton

Hot Air

Vote For Me, I’ll Set You Free

Oh yeah, it’s the season of big promises. John Hamilton, who’s running for mayor of this thriving, throbbing megalopolis, has pledged to wire B-ton up with a fiber-optic network giving us, he promises, broadband speeds of up to 1GB/second.

Fiber Optics

Optical Fibers

Nice. Building a public-utilities-type Internet access set-up will allow even the poorest among us to download video of Kanye West intruding on the next musical award winner’s moment of glory. Equal access to the vital news and info of the day benefits us all, natch. Emphasis on the word all.

Hamilton writes on his campaign website:

One important priority is to guarantee that all residents have full and reasonably priced access to the Internet. This is the 21st century equivalent of access to electricity or water. We need community access to broadband that isn’t controlled by corporate interests and that provides everyone a connection to this vital resource.

Sounds so logical, so right. So, why haven’t we done it already?

It costs dough. Lots and lots of it. As in paying for excavators to dig trenches throughout the city so as to lay the optical fiber. Last I heard, none of the local diggers has offered to do the job for free.

Trench

Costly

The next question for John Hamilton: Where’s the money coming from?

Net Business

AT&T has had plans to build fiber-optic networks in some 100 American cities, a three-year project the company estimated would cost $14 billion. Google Fiber is in the process of wiring up several flyover cities. Google customers in Austin, Texas, for instance, would be able to access a 1GB signal free for seven years — only after they pay a one-time $300 construction fee. Either that or they can pay $70 a month for Internet-only service. Neither option sounds terribly affordable for a minimum wage household.

Perhaps Hamilton hopes to partner with a big outfit like AT&T or Google to hotwire Bloomington.

That brings us back to AT&T’s 100-cities plan: The company has put it on hold because it’s jittery over the upcoming vote on Net Neutrality. Barack Obama last fall came out for NN. The accountants at AT&T, as well as Google and every other corp. that dabbles in Internetery, feel that’s a fate worse than an aircraft carrier-sized asteroid hitting the Earth.

Republican members of the Federal Communications Commission agree with their soulmates from the industry. FCC chair Tom Wheeler has told commissioners to expect a February vote on Net Neutrality. The next FCC meeting is scheduled for February 26. The five-member FCC is comprised of three Democrats and two Republicans so it looks like Net Neutrality will become the real deal at the end of the month.

FCC

Does that mean that the big Internet carriers will stop building fiber-optic networks? Or at least significantly slow down their digging?

If Hamilton hopes to work hand in hand with Google or any other big biz to build a Bloomington network, it looks as though he’ll be sadly disappointed.

And it seems to me the scads of quarters the city is accumulating through its downtown parking meters just won’t cover the cost of such an ambitious project.

Radio, Radio

WFPK-Louisville’s mid-morning DJ Marion Dries says today is World Radio Day. Cool.

NPR’s Morning Edition also made note of the day. In fact, two ME reporters did a cutesy piece on trying to find a simple, traditional radio in this big-assed device day and age. They stumbled and fumbled over expensive and byzantine contraptions until they finally settled on a nice fourteen-dollar transistor radio from Radio Shack.

Woohoo! I’ve got two of them. Swear to god. I’ve had at least one transistor radio in my possession for the last fifty years. Yep. My mother got me a transistor for Christmas, 1964, after months of me hectoring and harassing her for one. That old trickster Ma — she told me repeatedly that getting a transistor was out of the question because they cost too much. She’d call me, alternately, Rockefeller’s son or King Farouk whenever I’d start begging for a radio. She wore me down, I tell you. By that Christmas Eve I was certain I’d never get a transistor.

Then I unwrapped a little gift from her and it turned out to be — you guessed it — a Sears Silvertone transistor in a faux-leather case. I actually screamed with joy.

Radio

Mine Wasn’t Pink But This Is Close Enough

That little radio — it prob. cost no more than four bucks — to this day remains the greatest material gift I’ve ever received. I’d listen to it all night long, using the earphone. It got so I couldn’t fall asleep w/o hearing my music. By the time I was 13 and a junior counselor at Riis Park day camp, I was walking around with my latest transistor seemingly surgically attached to my ear. Matter of fact, one morning I was bopping around the park fieldhouse on a close, sticky, rainy day, the strains of Tommy James and the Shondells’ Crystal Blue Persuasion (still one of my favorite singles of all time) blaring, tinny, from my radio when the chief counselor, Miss Jane, grabbed me by the elbow and hissed, “Would you please turn that goddamned thing off? I’ve been telling you forever!”

I may have turned it down but I’ve never turned it off.

BTW: My mother thought my new transistor was so neat that she bought one for herself. She listened to WIND, which played, much to my horror, stuff like Mantovani, Perry Como, the Lettermen, and the Ray Coniff Singers. I still shudder thinking about it.

On the other hand, she did listen, religiously, to each afternoon’s Cubs game on that little radio. She’d be pounding and kneading bread dough in her oversized, dented, dull silver mixing bowl. The damned thing must have been big enough to fit a large dog inside, yet it hardly had the capacity for her to make enough loaves for my carb-greedy family.

The smell of fresh, raw bread dough hypnotized me, as did Ma’s purely single-minded attention to her task. Her mouth formed a tight, pinched O as she labored over her silver bowl. The little red stepstool upon which she perched it squeaked and moaned with each punch of her fist into the dough — and, believe me, there were hundreds of such punches in a typical breadmaking session. It was the sound and smell of home.

The voices of Cubs radio announcers Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau accompanied her dough ministrations. Ernie Banks would hit a home run and she’d yell “Yay!” without missing a kneading beat. Some hapless Cubs pitcher would give up a home run and she’d blurt, “For chrissakes!” and punch into her dough in real anger.

Need I say I love radio?

Hot Air

Book ‘Em

Like any impresario, Malcolm Abrams was nervous. He was hoping to put on a big show Monday night and he worried he’d have an empty house.

Abrams created the Bloom Magazine Book Club a couple of months ago and tabbed Those Who Wish Me Dead its first selection. Written by native son Michael Koryta, Those... is yet another booming bestseller from the keyboard of the crime/fantasy author. Still, Abrams wondered if anybody’d show up at Oliver Winery on the Square for the first meeting of the club.

Sure, Koryta was scheduled to read from his book and the young, smart, good-looking scribe ought to have been a draw. But Abrams knows there are no guarantees in any business. “I hope people show up,” he said to me last week.

Oh, people showed up. The first gathering of the BMBC packed the house. Abrams told me yesterday he and his staff had to keep on adding chairs for late arrivals until the crowd nearly squeezed Koryta off the stage. And Bloomington, natch, loved him.

“He only read for about ten minutes,” Abrams said. “The rest of the time was all questions and answers. He was very gracious. Everybody had a good time.”

Abrams can relax now.

The next selection of the Bloom Magazine Book Club is Scott Russell Sanders‘ latest book, Divine Animal. A woman bounded into the Book Corner around noon yesterday and announced, breathlessly, that she’d been at the Koryta show the night before. “It was fabulous,” she said. She wanted to get her hands on the Sanders novel before we sold out. Turns out her instincts were correct; she got the last copy we had.

Sanders

Scott Russell Sanders (Union University photo)

I put in an urgent message to Sanders, begging him to please, please, please get us as many copies of Divine… as he could. Next thing I knew — well, about an hour later — here came Scott Russell Sanders lugging a case of books in on his shoulder. And every one of those copies is signed.

The next meeting of the BMBC is Tuesday, March 31st, 5:30pm, at the Root Cellar Lounge of FARM Bloomington. You’d better get there early unless you want to be sitting with Sanders on stage.

Decisions, Decisions

Talked to one B-ton citizen the other day who says s/he’s going for Darryl Neher.

Why?

“It’s a gut thing,” this person says. Apparently, Neher’s opponent, John Hamilton, had phoned this person and asked for her/his endorsement. The person told him s/he hadn’t made a choice yet. Hamilton, acc’d’g to this citizen, then said, “Whatever you do, don’t make an endorsement before calling me. Call me first! Talk to me before you do anything.”

Hamilton’s tone was so insistent, this person says, that s/he was put off him. “I don’t want a used car salesman, using high pressure tactics on me,” s/he says.

Hamilton

Go Ahead, Take It For A Spin

Hmm. It’s funny; John Hamilton usually seems like such a mild-mannered fellow. Then again, people around town whisper in my ear that the person’s story is quite in keeping with what they know about the second-time aspirant for the Dem mayoral nomination. The question: Is this trait a good or bad thing?

That said, there’s still not a hair’s difference between Neher and Hamilton when it comes to their stances on social issues.

Another Bloomington observer tells me whoever wins the Democratic primary (and, therefore, the general election) will bring refreshing new work habits to the City Hall mayor’s office. “At least,” this other person says, “he’ll show up occasionally.”

I’m already scheduled to sit in on a Neher house party, which I’ll report on. I’m still trying to weasel my way into a Hamilton soiree. Stay tuned.

The Rules Of The Game

The national title won by Chicago’s Jackie Robinson West Little League All-Stars has been vacated. Jackie Robinson West copped the flag in 2014 in a memorable lead up the the international Little League World Series. The team’s story was tailor-made for a movie script.

JRW was the first all-black team to win the American title. It was the story of kids who’d grown up in hard-scrabble neighborhoods achieving a rare triumph and glory. Denzel Washington surely would have played some role in any potential film about that dream season.

JRW

Fans Cheer At A JRW Watch Party In August, 2014

But one of the team’s local rivals, the Evergreen Park Athletic Association, was led by a man who watched JRW advance through the tournament and seethed. Acc’d’g to this fellow, Chris Janes, JRW was using players from outside its precisely drawn eligibility boundaries. He screeched about it to the sport’s governing body, Little League International. Officials there at first waved him off, buying JRW’s assertions that kids had what seemed to be addresses in violation of eligibility requirements due to divorce and other family fractures.

Janes kept the pressure on until yesterday when the LLI finally relented and stripped the team of its title. And so “justice” has been done.

I can’t express my displeasure any clearer than my pal, the crusading attorney Jerry Boyle, has stated his:

It’s like everything else in this society. When they finally get their turn, all of a sudden the rules are strictly enforced.

Amen.

Hot Air

Dem Pep Rally

Monroe County Democrats have announced the date for their annual FDR Gala wherein they tell each other over soft drinks and cheese cubes how much the citizenry loves them and how they’re going to win the very next election handily. And, as a rule, they do win those elections — as long they’re local.

So, you can rub shoulders with mayors (soon-to-be-emeritus and aspiring), city council members, party supporters, payrollers who’d rather be at home with their shoes and socks off, and other exotic creatures Thursday, April 2nd, 6pm, in the Fountain Square Ballroom on Kirkwood.

The Monroe County Republican bash will be held under the Opie Taylor’s canopy, weather-permitting. That is, if it’s raining, the event will be cancelled because pedestrians might be trying to stay dry and, therefore, there’ll be no room for two more people.

Opie's

A Weighty Issue

Here’s another example of an issue wherein those on both sides of its fence are full of it. Thanks to Indiana University human sexuality research scientist, Debby Herbenick, I learned today that Bryn Mawr College this school year has been sending out targeted emails to students whose silhouettes, shall we say, are a tad more parabolic than some medical professionals might wish.

Overweight

The Bryn Mawr health services center sent the emails to students whose body-mass indexes were found to be “elevated” during office visits. The students, the email advised, were welcome to join a weight loss program sponsored by the center.

In other words, the message came through loud and clear to certain individuals: You’re overweight. This may lead to health problems. If you want to start working out and eating more healthily, we’ve got a program for you.

Sounds pretty much like what any caring health professional might say to a patient whose belt is beginning to look a bit strained at the last notch.

But, natch, the emails were received by enrollees at one of the Seven Sisters/Ivy League institutions of higher brow-furrowing. Whoever sent out the email forgot that such burgeoning scholars must parse and dissect every syllable of every word uttered near, about, and around them for any signs of oppression, tyranny, violence, ridicule, or poor grammar and usage.

One Bryn Mawr student howled on Facebook that the email is “problematic, it’s hurtful, and it’s just plain stupid.” The student explains that she has struggled with an eating disorder much of her life and has sought treatment for it from the Bryn Mawr student health center. “I felt very targeted,” she said to one TV reporter. “It didn’t feel like the school had my best interest at heart. Knowing my personal history, it was an email telling me to lose weight.”

Well, um, yeah.

This, babies, is what we snark artists like to refer to as a First World Problem.

The person who made this big splash has told interviewers as well as the rest of the world she was “horrified” to receive the email.

Online Dictionary

So, apparently, the student was filled with fear, scared out of her wits, her hair stood on end, and her blood ran cold. Rather like the residents of Hiroshima when that bright flash occurred one sunny August morning.

So, fine, she’s a sensitive flower who can’t bear being reminded of that which she has already acknowledged. I hope her heart can bear the terror of being fired from her job one day. But let’s leave her and start picking on the Bryn Mawr health services center.

It’s none of their goddamned business how big any of their students grow. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all about how obesity affects health care costs that must be born by all of us. Ho hum. Some window-peekers among us think it’s in the university’s or the company’s or even the state’s best interests to monitor every personal facet of our lives because all those things affect some bottom line. So what?

I know scads of folks whose love lives adversely affect their work productivity. If they get dumped, say, they’re next to useless for days, even weeks, at a time. Shall we send them messages advising them never to fall in love again?

This bottom-line mentality has at its core the near-criminalization of personality, of individualism, of self for chrissakes. Some people are fat. Some have tender hearts. Some have bad breath. All those traits affect us — their friends and coworkers — in some small but ultimately measurable way. Measurable, that is, by bean counters and bookkeepers whose sole concern in this life is that last cell in their spreadsheets.

To them I say, Let us be fat. Let us well-up with tears at odd times during the work day because we’ve been jilted. Let us have our bad breath.

After all, why do you insist on being so close to us that you can smell our breath?

Information Is Power

I just started drawing up a list of questions for the mayoral candidates. In the past, I’ve done questionnaires with candidates for various offices for Ryder magazine in an effort to get at each of those true persons.

For instance, during the 2010 Congressional election, I queried the likes of Todd Young, Shelli Yoder, Col. John Tilford and the rest of the aspirants for Indiana’s 9th District seat about their childhood memories, the music they listen to, the books they read, their fave TV shows of all time, and other such politically vital dope.

Here are a few of the Q’s I came up with last night:

  • Who were the three greatest US presidents?
  • Describe the happiest day of your life.
  • What was the first album you ever bought with your own money?
  • Do you agree that chocolate should be the national drug?

Chocolate

 

Uncontrollable Substance

If you have any suggestions, feel free to comment here or send them to me at glabagogo@gmail.com.

We’ll run the questionnaire and responses in the April issue. The Democratic primary between John Hamilton, Darryl Neher, and John Linnemeier will be held Tuesday, May 5th. Republican John Turnbull is running unopposed.

BTW: Here’s a question for the populace:

How comfortable would you be if Darryl Neher becomes mayor. In that case, he’d be Mayor Neher. Could you bear it?

Which reminds me: Why do you think it is that the United States military does not have the rank of Field Marshal? Pretty much every other fighting force on Earth has Field Marshals. The US stands alone in this regard.

It turns out that the Army did indeed consider adding Field Marshal to its ranks at the start of World War II. Only the top dog in the Army at that time was one General George Catlett Marshall, who directed the two-theater war effort from Washington. The story goes that Marshall was displeased with the idea because he thought it would be unbecoming to be referred to as Field Marshal Marshall. And that was that.

Marshall

Marshal?

Hot Air

Running

So, the two frontrunners for the Democratic nomination for mayor of Bloomington are digging in for real now. City Council member Darryl Neher — who carries the blessing of outgoing Boss Mark Kruzan — has been having intense, sotto voce tête à têtes with citizens in public places here and there, including The Pencil’s very own back office, Soma Coffee. For his part, John Hamilton is holding house parties all over town.

Hamilton

A Hamilton House Party

In fact, JH asked me the other evening if I might be interested in hosting a house part for him. His shoulders sagged when I informed him I live right outside the city limits.

Politicians in this megalopolis are learning that the Big Mike imprimatur is worth ten times more than an eight-figure TV ad budget. (Yeah, I know there are no commercial TV stations here in B-ton, but still….)

Neher

Anyway, were I a voting Bloomingtonian, I might be very interested in hosting a Hamilton soiree. I’d pack the house and, unbeknownst to JH, I’d invite Neher too. When Hamilton’s rival would arrive I’d say, “Okay boys, go at it.”

What fun! A mayoral debate right in my living room. I’m sure Steve and Sally the Dogs would contribute to the resulting mayhem.

(BTW: How ’bout me using three foreign language idioms, commonly used in English, within the space of three grafs? I bragged to Cecily, my sports editor pal Chandler’s squeeze who happened to be sitting next to me, that I’d done it. She said, “So you want people to think you’re smart?” “No,” I said, “smart-assed.”)

The Dem primary is May 5th. Consider that, for all intents and purposes, the day Bloomington chooses its next mayor.

And Another Thing….

I went to the Monroe County Clerk’s voting info website to find the exact date of the 2015 primary. The only info it carried had to do with the 2014 and 2013 elections.

Personal to whomever runs the site: That’s so last year (and the year before), savvy?

So, okay, I scrolled down to the Election Board’s calendar of events and checked the month of May. No date jumped out at me although there was a notation for a “Holiday Closing” on Tuesday, May 5th. What the hell holiday is May 5th? I clicked the date and found — mirabile dictu — it’s primary election day!

Monroe County Clerk

Personal (again) to whomever runs the site: I was under the impression we wanted to make it a tad easier for people to vote, ‘kay?

Tradition Lovers

Burnings at the stake? Beheadings?

Y’gotta say this for ISIS — they’re old school all the way.

A True Star

Stand-up comedian, memoirist, civil rights activist, anti-war protester, and all around fascinating guy Dick Gregory got a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame earlier this week.

Gregory

Dick Gregory

He’s 82 years old now. When a Variety reporter asked him why it took so long to get his star, Gregory — as always — pulled no punches:

You know damn good and well why it took so long. I’ve been a bad boy.

Yes he has. Let Dick Gregory‘s life serve as a reminder that thousands of his brand of “bad boys” are just what a corrupt, inequitable, hate-laden society needs.

Oh hey, Dick Gregory’s greatest line? This:

… so I picked up that chicken and I kissed it.

Hot Air

Read Koryta

I wonder how many people in this town know about the Bloom magazine book club.

Yeah, it’s a thing. Here’s the deal: Bloom, being bi-monthly, will announce a new book choice each issue with a get-together of all participants approximately two months down the road. The current selection is Michael Koryta‘s Those Who Wish Me Dead.

Book Cover

Koryta, of course, is the local big-time novelist whose mysteries and suspenses have flitted onto the New York Times bestseller list now and again. He hangs out with bestselling author Michael Connelly and has garnered kudos from the likes of Stephen King, Dennis Lehane, and George Pellicanos. Here’s Koryta’s bibliography:

  • Tonight I Said Goodbye (he was 21 when this came out)
  • Sorrow’s Anthem
  • A Welcome Grave
  • Envy the Night
  • The Silent Hour
  • So Cold the River 
  • The Cypress House (optioned for film with Chris Columbus as screenwriter)
  • The Ridge
  • The Prophet
  • Those Who Wish Me Dead

Believe it or not, Koryta worked a bit as a private dick, interning with a licensed snoop a few years back. That’s how serious he is about his art. He began dreaming of becoming a novelist when he was 8 years old. He narrowed his ambition at 16 when he decided he’d write about crime. He sent a fan letter to Connelly, who later became his neighbor and pal. (Koryta also keeps a home in St. Petersburg, Florida.) Even after he became an honest-to-gosh author, he studied in a writing workshop run by Lehane down in Florida. He eventually worked his way up to teaching classes for Lehane.

Koryta

Serious Man

By and by, Koryta branched off on a sort of supernatural tangent in his books. The detour’s success has been mixed at best: acc’d’g to services that measure such things, two of his paranormal books, Envy the Night and Silent Hour couldn’t even crack five figures in sales combined. No matter. “He’s a courageous writer,” Connelly told Wall Street Journal reporter Lauren Mechling for a 2010 profile on Koryta. Koryta insisted on trying his hand at ghostly stuff. “He was having a growing reputation and charting an upward trajectory [yet] he chose to take this risk,” Connelly said.

Koryta eventually became good enough in the woo racket to earn an initial press run of 35,000 for So Cold the River.

Thus far, five of Koryta books are in development for TV and/or film production and three of them have been tabbed among New York Times notable books of the year.

The first meeting of the Bloom mag book club will be Monday, February 9, 5:30pm, at Oliver Winery on the west side of Courthouse Square. That means you have two weeks to cop Those… and gobble it up.

Get reading.

Loan Sharking

The Herald Times reports this morning (paywall) that Mayor Mark Kruzan has some $32,000 in his campaign war chest and he’s not even running in this year’s beauty pageant.

Neher

Neher: Hat In Hand?

Betcha Darryl Neher’s pleased the mayor has endorsed him for the Democratic primary in May. “Say Boss,” Neher’s bound to whisper one of these days, “can you spare a grand or two? Y’know, just for expenses?”

Meanwhile, John Hamilton and Dawn Johnsen have been hosted powwows at their home, putting up coffee and tea for supporters and listening to them talk about local issues. And make no mistake: the power couple looked under the sofa cushions for spare change after the get-togethers as well.

Johnsen/Hamilton

Bloomington’s Future First Couple?

Just wondering, will we ever see the day when election campaigns will be completely publicly financed? In fact, the feds first started pretending in 1971 that the body politic could foot the bill for those running for Prez. You know, the Q at the top of your annual tax form that asks, “Do you want $3 of your federal tax to go to the Presidential Election Campaign Fund?

Let’s see, that was 44 years ago. Y’think my yearly three bucks counterbalances the hundreds of millions the likes of Sheldon Adelson and the Koch Boys pitch at the candidates?

Hot Air

Let’s Play Two!

A Cubs giant is now playing with the angels.

Banks

Ernie Banks, January 31, 1931 — January 23, 2015

Givin’ ‘Em What They Want

Funny, I just happened to glance at the numbers for this global communications colossus and whaddya think I found? Yeah, the Pencil in recent weeks has garnered some of its biggest daily unique visitors stats since its inception.

Crowd

Pencillistas

For those of you unhip to the jargon of the interwebs, unique visitors are individual people who request to view pages within a given period. The number is much more indicative of a site’s or a blog’s popularity than simply the number of hits it gets. If I, f’rinstance, visit the website for the North American Nude Motorcycle Riders Association I’m a unique visitor. But if I visit the site, say, 23 times in a day, each visit counts as a hit. Then NANMRA can brag it got 23 hits out of me when in reality I’m just one guy doing, um, research.

So, yeah, I’ve been drawing unique visitors by the bushelful of late. Only I’ve hardly been posting at all since the first week of December.

The conclusion? The populace of this holy land prefers looking at a blank page than actually reading a Pencil post. Thanks, America!

Meet The New Boss

So, while I’ve been busy transcribing interview tapes for Charlotte Zietlow’s memoir, Bloomington’s 2015 mayoral race has begun to take shape. The front runners right now appear to be City Council member Darryl Neher and 2011 mayoral bridesmaid John Hamilton. Both, naturally, are Democrats.

Neher/Hamilton

Neher (L) & Hamilton

There are, to be sure, a couple of Republicans who’ve declared their candidacies. If you want to know who they are or what they look like, check the milk carton in your refrigerator.

Unless some surprise Dem candidate jumps into the fray, this town’s next mayor will be Neher or Hamilton. I can live with either. Neher has been blessed by outgoing Mayor Mark Kruzan. Hamilton’s the darling of Indiana University’s Maurer School of Law where his bride, Dawn Johnsen, is a prof.

Whoever cops the big office, he (or she, should a woman opt in and win) will be in charge of an historically small town that has designs on big city-ness. Hotels are sprouting up like fungi. Tallish apartment developments have turned College Avenue near Courthouse Square into a mini canyon. Quaint shops and Mom & Pop stores have been replaced by glitzy sports and wine bars downtown. Moneyed students from around the country and, for that matter, around the world are tooling down Kirkwood Avenue in shiny luxury SUVs and even Maseratis.

Townies loathe the new Bloomington. IU digs it the most. Hamilton, as mentioned, has an IU connection — his campaign once again will be raising scads of cash from law school instructors. Neher is a senior lecturer at IU’s Kelley School of Business. Loads o’folks are going moan that either candidate will be doing the dirty work of the archcriminal Michael McRobbie. Problem is, that’s a facile charge. IU Prez McRobbie’s wishes by and large would be granted no matter who claims the mayor’s chair, even if it were someone like a young, contrarian, Charlotte Zietlow.

With Citizens Like These, Who Needs….

“Citizens United” may be two of the dirtiest words in the English language these days.

That’s the moniker attached to the landmark US Supreme Court decision allowing corporations and large organizations to send dump trucks full of cash to political candidates despite legislation and regulations designed to minimize the effect of money on the electoral process. Citizens United, the group, argued that money is speech and the Reagan/Bush/Bush court gleefully agreed.

As a result, elections today give us the finest candidates money can buy.

Citizens United is a Right Wing gang that screeches for our holy land to withdraw from the United Nations, considers the ACLU to be at war with America, has worked hand in hand with the thankfully dead Andrew Brietbart to portray the Occupy movement as a mob of rapists and drugged-up vandals, and even characterized John McCain as a dangerous liberal. In short, it’s a club for lunatics.

The club is holding its annual Iowa Freedom Summit this weekend, wherein bitter, suspicious, xenophobic sociopaths can gather and tell each other how saintly and patriotic they are. Speakers this year include:

Ernst

Joni Ernst: Leading America Into The 1950s

Attendees will fall all over themselves cheering for these rage monkeys. Ayn Rand’s and Ronald Reagan’s names are sure to be strewn about like pocket candy at a child molesters convention. Oh, and Jesus Christ himself is sure to be welcomed in spirit. Not, of course, the spirit the “son of god” intended but, y’know.

Hot Air

Plastics

Mr. McGuire: I just want to say one word to you. Just one word. 

Benjamin Braddock: Yes, sir. 

Mr. McGuire: Are you listening? 

Benjamin: Yes, I am. 

Mr. McGuire: Plastics. 

Benjamin: Exactly how do you mean?

From "The Graduate"

One Word, Benjamin

And so went perhaps the most famous exchange between characters in a Mike Nichols movie — or, for that matter, any movie made in the 1960s. The Graduate shot Nichols into the Hollywood firmament in 1967. It was his second directorial effort, following some pretty good success the  year before with Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.

In The Graduate, he took an absolute unknown, Dustin Hoffman, who was short, whose look screamed his Jewishness, and who had a honker of monumental proportions, and turned him into the object of a bored, spectacularly gorgeous suburban housewife’s desires. “Mrs. Robinson,” he blurts to Anne Bancroft, reclining alluringly on her bed, “you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Huh?” she says, chuckling.

“Aren’t you?”

She was.

As much as The Wild Bunch, and Rebel Without a Cause in the 1950s, The Graduate defined the new, post-WWII youth generation. Youth — the word itself became almost a brand. Almost? Hah! Youth culture was sold like jeans, record albums, Pepsi, and sex — all of which which were inextricably tied in with the young.

The Graduate, when all was said and done, was about pointless, directionless rebellion. Revolution, as Abbie Hoffman once shouted, for the hell of it. Well, a mild revolution. A revolution waged from the safety of the revolutionaries’ backyards.

Adults were hypocritical, shallow, materialistic, hyper-status conscious, and, well, bad guys. The young were disaffected, alienated, and somehow aware of the over-30 generation’s sanctimonious affectations. Only they became so aware while lounging in the sunken swimming pools their parents had built for them.

Mike Nichols’ The Graduate was a work of genius. Not too surprising, considering he came from the star nursery that eventually became known as The Second City.

A bunch of then-current and former University of Chicago students and hangers-on started the Compass Players in Chi-town’s Hyde Park neighborhood in the mid-’50s. The Compass gang, including David Shepherd, Del Close, Paul Sills, Shelley Berman, Jerry Stiller, Anne Meara, Alan Alda, Ed Asner, Valerie Harper, and others, performed improvised commedia dell’arte skits at a local bar called The Compass. Nichols joined the group and met Elaine May there. The two quickly became lovers and co-performers. They formed a duo act and rocketed to fame far beyond that of the rest of the Compass people at the time. As the Compass Players morphed into The Second City in 1958, Nichols and May struck out on their own, eventually performing on Broadway together in “An Evening with Mike Nichols and Elaine May” and winning a 1962 Grammy award for Best Comedy Album.

Nichols/May

Nichols & May

Nichols has given us so much comedy — just check out his IMDb page — that he can be forgiven for marrying former Richard Nixon speechwriter Diane Sawyer.

One more thing. The final scene of The Graduate, as much else from the movie, has become iconic. The story goes that nobody knew how the movie would end. Nichols directed Hoffman and Katherine Ross to run out of the church where Ross’s character — coincidentally (or not) named Elaine — had left her fiancé at the altar. The two were to run down the street and eventually board a city bus. They dashed to the rear of the bus and plopped down, out of breath and sweaty, she still in her wedding dress and veil. Hoffman and Ross thought the shot of them, huffing and puffing, would be a brief one and they anticipated there would be another, closing shot.

Instead, Nichols instructed his cameraman to keep shooting. Hoffman and Ross sat in the back of the bus, wondering when they’d hear the word “Cut!” It wasn’t to come for long moments. The actors, puzzled, remained half in-character and half out of it, glancing around, the bafflement beginning to cloud their faces.

Only then did Nichols yell “Cut.” The scene was perfect. Nichols knew that the couple had no idea where they were going nor what they’d do when they got there. The quizzical looks that crossed their faces conveyed it better than anything they could have ever conjured as actors.

Who’s Next

Judging by my unscientific, non-comprehesive, seat-of-the-pants survey of some of Bloomington’s most plugged-in citizens, this town’s next mayor may either be John Whikehart, former Ivy Tech-Bloomington chancellor and current deputy mayor under outgoing boss Mark Kruzan, or City Council member Darryl Neher.

This despite the fact that Whikehart is 65 years old and hasn’t made any public utterances about wanting the job.

One or two have even implied that Whikehart was brought into city government for the express purpose of succeeding Kruzan. This conspiracy theory has it that Kruzan knew he’d be getting out before being chased out, especially after the downtown parking meters hoo-ha, and wanted a trusted lieutenant to carry on after him.

Neher, on the other hand, seems a far more likely challenger for the throne.

See for yourself whose names are being bandied about:

Neher

Darryl Neher

Bloomington City Council, District. V. The smart money is on Neher to run.

Ruff

Andy Ruff

Bloomington City Council, At Large. Another great bet to run, at least acc’d’g to knowledgeable observers.

Whikehart

John Whikehart

Bloomington Deputy Mayor, former chancellor of Ivy Tech-Blooomington.

Hamilton

John Hamilton

Ran against Kruzan in the 2011 Democratic primary. A risky bet — a good authority whispered into my ear a year ago that he’s not interested in running anymore. Then again he won’t have to run against Kruzan this time. Hmm.

Yoder

Shelli Yoder

A good bet to run. She’s ambitious and, presumably, looking for a job with a higher profile than that of her current gig as 1st District representative on the Monroe County Council, the better to leapfrog into the US Congress seat she really wants.

Volan

Steve Volan

Bloomington City Council, District VI. Don’t waste your dough on this bet. Tall Steve already has gone on the record saying he won’t run.

Some half a dozen other names have been floated as well. None of them is worth mentioning here. Note no Republicans have been mentioned. This is Bloomington — duh.

The Pencil Today:

DOES THAT INCLUDE ME?

My idol, Mike Royko: “It has been my policy to view the Internet not as an ‘information highway,’ but as an electronic asylum filled with babbling loonies.”

Royko

NOW WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE

At long last, I can throw my enthusiastic support behind the Occupy Movement.

I’ve been fairly tepid in my backing of the three-month-old grass-roots protest. Staging a Boy Scout Jamboree in People’s Park won’t do the job when the corporate and legislative forces of the mightiest nation in the history of the Earth are aligned against you.

Occupy Bloomington

Yesterday, things changed.

Women’s defense courses teach a few tricks when a person faces a much stronger foe. A man may menace a woman, towering over her, possessing twice her brawn, but if she carefully aims a knee or a toe at those little ovoid organs dangling between his thighs, the contest will suddenly — seemingly magically —  be evened.

Occupiers aimed a swift kick at the balls Monday. Protesters tried to shut down ports in Oakland, Los Angeles, Seattle, Houston, and Portland with varying degrees of success. Others tried to interfere with operations at Walmart distribution centers in Salt Lake City and Denver.

“The Man” isn’t writhing on the ground just yet. He may never. But yesterday was a nice start.

Occupy Protesters Block The Port Of Oakland

THE CRUSADING JOURNALIST

So, having spent Sunday night writing up my Top Ten Local Political Stories in 2011 article for the Ryder magazine, I felt awfully smug and snarky.

I chided both parties, wondered when there’d be a funeral for the local Republican party, gave a justifiable raspberry to the entire Indiana General Assembly, guessed that a certain elected official had nightmares about wearing a county correctional center jumpsuit, and repeated unflattering speculation about how an unsuccessful mayoral candidate raised his hefty war chest this past spring.

Heading Out To Pasture

In fact, I fairly bullied that candidate, a harmless fellow named John Hamilton. His wife, it so happens, is a fairly well-known former Washington appointee, Dawn Johnsen.

Johnsen, you may recall, served under Bill Clinton in the Office of Legal Counsel. When Barack Obama took office, he nominated her to be the head of that office. The Republicans dug into her past and discovered that she’d once or twice uttered a sentence about abortion that didn’t conclude with her demanding that women who’d had one ought to be horsewhipped.

Naturally, GOP Senators tripped all over themselves trying to paint her as something akin to a blood-soaked abortionist herself. They held up her appointment in 2009, then adjourned. Obama renominated her in 2010 and, yup, the Republicans held it up again. Finally, after months of sitting around and waiting, Johnsen stuck her tongue out at the whole of Washington, withdrew her name from consideration, and came back home to Bloomington.

She seems happy enough teaching constitutional law here at Indiana University.

Johnsen At Her Nomination Hearing

Hamilton, on the other hand, has led a less headline-worthy life. Were it not for his fortuitous taste in brides, I implied, he might not be given a second thought as a mayoral candidate.

I echoed the oft-repeated whisper that his campaign contribution pot of gold might have been the result of Maurer School of Law faculty members feeling compelled to write generous checks to him as a way of currying favor with their esteemed colleague, his wife.

I even referred to him as Mr. Dawn Johnsen.

It was 21st Century journalism at its finest. I proved myself to be witty, bold, sassy, and ready at the drop of a hat to point and gawk at people in power and those who want to be. And hidden somewhere among all that brilliant verbiage might even have been an atom of truth.

Okay, maybe an electron.

Hell, Bloomington’s a small town, really, and everybody knows everybody else’s gossip. Especially politicians and IU faculty members.

Hamilton might even be the next Congressman from the great state o’Indiana’s 9th District. That’s part of the gossip, too — that his mayoral tilt was really a test run for a bigger prize.

Hamilton’s Real Goal?

One of the hazards of being a professional smart-ass is the fear that one day one of my subjects might walk up and jab me one in the nose. Worry not, though. I figure that John Hamilton is too much of a refined gentleman to flatten my snout. Plus, it’d look bad for a guy trying to run for Congress having to explain why he assaulted and battered a beloved blogger.

Everybody’s happy, right?

I thought so until yesterday afternoon. I was blissfully peddling tomes at the Book Corner at about 2:30 when who walks in but Dawn Johnson herself.

My body froze but my mind raced. Oh sweet Jesus! She’s here to tear my head off. Oh holy god, here she comes!

But Johnsen strode past me. I exhaled. What am I worried about? She’s a big time lawyer. She’s too smart to bloody up some knuckleheaded snark-meister.

Probably Some Journalist

She headed for the back of the store where Margaret, the boss, holds forth.

Oh no. No, no. She’s gonna demand that I be fired. I love this job. I get to hang out among books and readers and meet everybody in town. I even get paid a couple of pennies a week to do it. Oh, what an idiot I am! Why do I have to be such a smart-ass?

I watched as Johnsen conferred earnestly with Margaret. They took an awfully long time, talking about my future. Jeez, I thought, let’s get it over with.

I figured, All you gotta do is tell Margaret that nobody in town’ll ever shop in her store again as long as she keeps that no-good, insulting, smart-aleck, so-called journalist in her employ.

But then I shook my head clear. What the hell am I thinking? The piece hasn’t run yet for pity’s sake! I haven’t turned it in. I haven’t even finished it!

Hahahaha! What a dope I am. I felt like dancing among the stacks.

Johnsen came up to the checkout counter and placed a kid’s book down. “Everything alright?” I asked, my voice cracking the tiniest bit.

Oh sure, she said. She added that she’d ordered another children’s book from Margaret. That’s what had taken so long.

I snorted. Johnsen looked at me, puzzled.

I couldn’t stop myself. “I gotta tell ya…,” I began. I told her the whole story of my little panic attack moments before. Well, not exactly the whole story; I left out the Mr. Dawn Johnsen part.

“And, I swear to god, I thought you were gonna clunk me on the head,” I concluded.

Johnsen laughed. “Oh,” she said, “I’d never do that!”

I handed her the kid’s book in a bag. “Thanks a lot,” I said. “You’re a great sport.”

“I can’t wait to read your piece,” she said. And then she was gone.

I smiled as she went out the door. I watched her walk down Walnut Street, the smile still plastered on my face. For at that moment it occurred to me: Dawn Johnsen and her husband, John Hamilton, are going to read my story.

Sure, she’d never clunk me on the head. But is John Hamilton really all that harmless?

Yeesh. The things you have to worry about when you’re a crusading, smart-assed blogger and so-called journalist.

Does He Pack A Punch?