Category Archives: Occupy Wall Street

Today: Wednesday, November 9, 2011

AND THE WINNER IS…, NOBODY. YET.

Poor Linda Robbins. She’s in hot water.

Check that: Boiling water.

You can brew your morning java in it.

Linda Robbins In A Happier Moment

Robbins, the Monroe County Clerk, suspended ballot counts (login required) early this morning after yesterday’s local elections

Mix-ups at certain polling places and legal questions about the counting process have resulted in…, um, actually, there are very few results to speak of at this hour.

(See WFIU’s website for the latest albeit incomplete tallies.)

Here’s what happened. Robbins ordered paper ballots to be used in yesterday’s election. She trained poll workers to do a quick count after the polls closed and then send the ballots off to a County facility where the pencil-marked ballots would be counted by an electronic scanner.

Sounds good, right? Poll workers envisioned doing their thing, shipping their ballots off, and going home early to sit before the fire and contemplate the infinite.

Oops. The lone Republican member of the County election board had dropped a bomb on Robbins Sunday. That board member reminded Robbins that a new state law requires county election boards to do their official counts at the precinct level, with the process overseen by a single poll worker from each of the two major parties.

The law, apparently, calls for felony charges to be brought against any county clerk who veers from its mandate.

Suddenly Sunday, Robbins envisioned herself wearing a Monroe County Correctional Center jumpsuit.

So she brought her poll workers in for an emergency re-training session Monday. Only some folks just might have snoozed through the session.

Tuesday night, workers in a number of polling places stubbornly did their counts in the old way, the way they purportedly were trained out of Monday.

By midnight, the scene at the County was one of chaos. By two o’clock this morning, Robbins threw her hands in the air and ordered her people to call it a night. Counting was scheduled to resume at 9:00am.

Meanwhile, Robbins is making panicky phone calls to the Indiana Secretary of State’s office for guidance.

She may have to call a criminal defense attorney for some advice as well.

BLAME THE POOR

Speaking of this solemn system of governance we call democracy, Herman Cain is going on the offensive against accusers who claim he’s been…, well, a jerk. Possibly a criminal jerk.

A Chicago woman this week accused the Republican presidential candidate of trying to force her face into his junk as they drove around after having dinner some years ago. This incident allegedly occurred when Cain was the big boss at the National Restaurant Association.

She’s one of four woman thus far to make such icky charges against the former pizza joint CEO.

Cain held a news conference yesterday to tell the world how unfair it’s being to him.

Why’s Everbody Always Pickin’ On Me?

I mean, here’s a man who has worked his way up from dire poverty to become a wealthy man. So wealthy, in fact, that he had to become a Republican.

Cain, though, seems not to have much patience for folks who today are walking in the kind of holey shoes he once wore. He lashed out against Occupy Wall Streeters last month, saying they should only blame themselves if they aren’t as rich as he is. Later, at a Republican candidates debate, he iterated his scold against anyone who couldn’t afford a solid gold toilet.

Now, he’s under attack. And guess who’s responsible.

Yep, those who ought to be blaming themselves.

I Shoulda Worked Harder — Like Herman Cain!

Cain returned fire at his Arizona presser Tuesday as well as on that paragon program of political thought, Jimmie Kimmel Live.

He referred to the Chicago woman as “troubled” and alluded to her financial difficulties throughout the years. The idea being that she’s broke and desperate and so was ripe to make her accusations for the big bucks that surely will ensue.

Keep in mind that when guys like Cain sneer at people for their financial difficulties, they’re not talking about, say, Donald Trump failing to make payments on his hundred-million-dollar loans. Hell no, that’s big business. Cain et al reserve their disgust for people, like the Chicago woman, who have a hard time paying the electric bill.

She has nobody to blame but herself.

SURPRISE? REALLY?

I glanced at the New York Times front pager about the verdict in Michael Jackson’s doctor’s homicide case yesterday.

One thing struck me. The writer, for the 50-millionth time since the King of Pop went to heaven or hell, referred to his death as a “surprise.”

Honestly, who was surprised that Michael Jackson died? His dalliances with prescription meds were well-known. He’d been reported to be slurring and stumbling and appearing to be visiting another planet while working on his last video/CD.

And, for pity’s sake, he was Michael Jackson!

Who Could Have Expected Anything Bad To Happen To Him?

When I heard the early reports that he’d died, my intial response was, “Naturally!”

Same with Amy Winehouse. Her alcoholism and drug problems were about as common knowledge in the gossip tabs and interwebs as the fact that Barack Obama was a secret radical Muslim from Nazi Germany.

And what about someone who today is holding on to life and sanity by her fingertips, one Lindsay Lohan? Should she cash in her chips tomorrow, will reporters write that her demise is a shock?

The way I figure it, if celeb journalists want to be really accurate they should handle such sad folks thusly: Every day there should be a headline in the Entertainment or Lifestyle section blaring the news, “Jacko/Winehouse/Lohan Still Alive! Medical Experts Baffled.” Then when they do die, nothing.

The daily news, after all, is mainly about the unusual or unexpected, isn’t it?

I Hope She Surprises Us

Today: Saturday, November 5, 2011

THE BIRTH OF A SENSATION

Welcome to the newest reason to love Bloomington.  You’ve arrived at the online news, arts, culture, and opinion extravaganza we call Electron Pencil.


We swooped down to these environs from the big town on the shores of Lake Michigan a little more than two years ago (after a brief side stay in Louisville, Kentucky.) Now we’ve found our home.

We’d been part of The Third City communications powerhouse from November, 2008, starting up that whole shebang with the estimable journalist Benny Jay. Like Martin & Lewis and Frank & Jamie McCourt, we went our separate ways this past August.

Hoping to carry over our success from the Windy City, we’ll be trying to tie together all the mini-communities that make this 70K-pop. micro-lopolis one of the most cosmopolitan in this holy land.

Over the next few weeks look for us to present a daily updated art gallery featuring painting, sculpture, photography, videos, and other eye candy. We’ll also offer fresh short fiction and movie, TV, live performance, and stage reviews. There’ll be podcasts of poetry readings, essays, and rants.

And you can begin each day with the well-reasoned, scintillating, and invaluable opinions of Big Mike Glab.

We’re glad you’re here. Dig in!

MOB JAMBOREE

Bloomington’s own franchise of the Occupy movement that huffy Congressman Eric Cantor (R-Va) not long ago characterized as a “growing mob” is still sleeping in tents at the appropriately monikered People’s Park.


America’s Been Very, Very Good To The Cantor Family

I honestly don’t know which “mob” imagery he was trying to evoke. There is of course, the Mob of “The Godfather” and “Goodfellas.” But he may have been trying to channel his own inner Laurence Olivier as the uber-ambitious Crassus in “Spartacus,” denouncing the growing sentiment of Power to the People in Stanley Kubrik’s version of ancient Rome.

“Did you truly believe,” Crassus roars at the republican (small-R) Gracchus in the  Senate, “Rome could be so easily delivered into the clutches of a mob?”

Yeah, I see Cantor more as the cock-of-the-walk defender of the patricians. I also see him being ministered to by a body slave in his private bath, as portrayed in the director’s cut of the 1960 classic.

Rome Was Very, Very Good To Crassus

You remember that scene don’t you? Tony Curtis plays the body slave, Antoninus, squeezing a sponge over Crassus’s bare back. Crassus asks the scantily clad Antoninus if he’s ever eaten oysters or snails. Antoninus says he has never had a snail.

Crassus then asks if he considers the eating of oysters or snails to be a moral question because — duh — he’s not really talking about oysters and snails.

Antoninus is far less than thrilled about where the conversation is headed.

Uh, No Thanks, I’m Not Very Hungry.

After Antoninus towels him off Crassus reveals that he prefers both oysters and snails. Then Crassus stands near a window proferring a magnificent view of the imperial city on the river Tiber.

Crassus: “There, boy, is Rome! … There is the power that bestrides the known world like a colossus. No man can withstand her…. How much less, a boy!

“…There is only one way to deal with Rome, Antoninus. You must serve her. You must abase yourself before her. You must grovel at her feet. You must….” (Crassus pauses for effect) “…love her!”

Crassus turns back toward Antoninus and discovers that his slave — who has seen his master’s snail and has no taste for it — has run away.

Now I’m not saying Eric Cantor prefers snails as much as he prefers oysters (although Max Blumenthal, in his 2009 book “Republican Gomorrah,” posits that the GOP is chock-full of closet snail eaters.)

I’m jes sayin’ he loves gazing out at the vista of the colossus that bestrides the known world, circa 2011 — the same vista Occupy Wall Streeters are as unenthusiastic about as Antoninus was about escargot.

Bloomington’s “mob” is holding strong even as the weather grows inexorably more crappy. Thursday would have been a perfect day for Occupy Bloomington campers to call it a season. They haven’t. This thing looks as real in our town as it is across this colossus.

(The following pix were shot at noon, Thursday, November 4, 2011, at People’s Park.)

PUBLIC RADIO NEEDS YOUR DOUGH

Stumbling into Soma Coffee for my fix this morning, I almost crashed into WFIU’s jazz boss, David Brent Johnson, and his delightful bride, Brenda McNellen. (And isn’t she the sweetest human on record? She grinned at me as she always does despite the fact that I grunted at her.) Seeing the two reminded me that pledge week started yesterday. “Go raise some money,” I said to DBJ. He promised he would.

Do your part.

TRAINED EYE

Videographer Steve Llewellyn tells us about the grand opening of a new art space all day (mostly) today.

Trained Eye Arts Center will offer bands, hot air balloon rides, wine and finger food, folk dancers, comedy improve, poetry readings and more, all for a fin (four bucks if you say you arrived via the B-Line Trail.

The new headquarters for the arts collective is at 615 North Fairview. Doors open at noon and the fun goes on until midnight.