August in Texas

We are uncharacteristically conflicted in our views on Cindy Sheehan's Crawford vigil. Typically, here at Hard Truth we cling to our uninformed snap judgments tenaciously until forced, under threat of our shallow thinking being exposed, or in a pathetic ploy to score points with someone we admire or fear, we retreat, hopefully in a way that's perceived as being persuaded by the intellectual weight of an alternate view, rather than the more likely account that we hadn't bothered to give the issue under consideration much thought in the first place.

In the case of Ms. Sheehan, the depth of her conviction, sincerity and right to free expression are unassailable, and we would be fortunate indeed to have the combination of fully descended testicles, backbone and moral fortitude needed to act on such lofty principles. Her efforts also stand as much-needed affirmation that individuals are not powerless against the carefully crafted face of the current administration, and that a small number of otherwise unremarkable citizens really can move public dialogue in potent, meaningful ways.

But we are sufficiently introspective, and yes honest, to admit that our support also grows out of certain less noble sentiments. Any thorn in the side of the administration is a source of at least some satisfaction, bittersweet though it may be, and while we do not celebrate that particular personality trait, we assuage the infrequent pangs of mild guilt with the knowledge that the president and friends have engineered their own political misfortunes. It is also comforting, in an uncomfortable way, to see Bush's pettiness revealed in full glory, lamely claiming daily 2-hour exercise routines and 'getting on with his life' assume priority over the issues Sheehan raises. And having let the problem fester to the point of eliminating any positive options from a public relations standpoint, it is a lovely, simple pleasure to see team Bush squirm, trying to contain the simmering rage of the Great and All-Powerful Oz while unkempt hippies and other riffraff dance along the path to and from the presidential palace.

So clearly we stake no claim to the moral high ground and are instead content to support Sheehan on the basis of our unforgiving, misanthropic, and borderline pathological distain for most all things Bush. Oh, that and the fact that Sheehan stands on the side of moral principle.

And yet there is something about the story that began as Cindy Sheehan's visit to Crawford that has grown ugly, chilling our buzz of righteousness, and generally drizzling on our parade. Not the putrid stench of reactions from the right - the claims that Sheehan is the Satan-spawned whoring mouthpiece of Michael Moore, Code-pink, America-hating Islamofacist anti-Semites. Not the claims that she spits on the grave and service of her first-born son and all soldiers killed in the line of duty. And certainly not the steady flow of sewage from RNC Communications and the Right-Holy Trinity of Limbaugh, O'Reilly and Hannity, or the compassionate conservative buzz of gun fire, trucks flattening memorial crosses, and Mike Gallagher's bus passing through. No, these expressions of patriotism and support for the Commander-in-Chief paint an accurate portrait of his base for all to see, a portrait the administration has gone to some length to keep locked away from the voting public.

What does trouble us is our dawning realization that the Cindy Sheehan story has become a narrative about Cindy Sheehan. About a mother who lost a son. About a woman who felt a moral imperative to speak out. About a woman the rightwing attack machine claims is a compliant pawn of leftist interest groups. About a wife who’s husband has apparently filed for divorce. About a mother whose mission is supported by her surviving children, and denigrated by her in-laws. What’s missing in this narrative is anything and everything that motivated Sheehan’s action. The basis for the President’s push for war. A strategy for securing Iraq. A strategy for leaving Iraq.

And in this respect Cindy Sheehan’s mission has been usurped, co-opted as the latest installment in that syndicated series of best-selling personal dramas that includes the OJ trial, the bug-eyed butt-fuck crazy runaway bride, the Michael Jackson Neverland fairytales, the minute-by-minute Natalee Holloway adventure, the BLT Boy Scout leader/Church Elder turned psychokiller horrors – a genre of media-manufactured American life we have come to think of as “baby falls in a well” news. The appeal is voyeuristic, the perverse, prurient satisfaction of seeing others fully exposed for inspection, analysis and summary judgment. And in those cases where the subject under scrutiny has played a willing role, like Cindy Sheehan, it misdirects attention, focusing on the sordid details of personal history, the blathering nonsense of critics, the political “strategery” of our elected representatives – anything aside from issues of actual significance.

That would be reporting the news. That would be valuable service toward establishing an informed electorate. But, that would not be where the money is.

Rude Kudos: a meta-review

Imagine our surprise and delight. Bleary-eyed and morning ugly, skivvies around our pale blue chicken-leg ankles, we were very nearly ready to expel the remnants of last night's dinner when we began flipping through the morning’s New York Times. Setting aside the A section, on the view that the latest atrocities of some rightwing lunatic (as likely as not the President) so early in the morning would burst the cerebral aneurysm we are convinced is pulsing in some critical area of our brain, we randomly pulled out the Arts section, a regular of the Times that readers more cultured than we might know is section E. And there, on the front page, above the fold, bigger 'n shit, is a picture of the Rude Pundit, performing his one-man show, "...in the Year of Living Rudely", at the New York Fringe Festival.

Regular readers are aware of our admiration for the Rude Pundit, an artist of uncommon insight and clarity, and one of the inspirations for our own humble efforts here at Hard Truth. We applaud the Times decision to headline the show, and, of course, free publicity is good publicity, especially for a talent that would be difficult to showcase in many mainstream venues.

Unfortunately, the review sucks. Since TruthTeller will not actually see the show until next week, some might claim any impression we have is uninformed, premature, even impulsive, but we stand firmly by our snap judgment that Margo Jefferson’s review sucks. And sucks at multiple levels.

The critic devotes the bulk of the review to the Rude Pundit’s blog work – worthy stuff to be sure, but described here with the wit, wisdom and descriptive power of a college sophomore English major at East Jesus State Teacher’s College, Pomona Campus. And as we move into comments on the show itself, we’re treated to Jefferson’s idle musings about the performance space, the set, and pacing of the dialogue – all issues nearly irrelevant to the content of the Rude One’s work. We suppose delivery is more relevant, but here again Jefferson finds fault with the “tone and pacing” – criticisms that for all we know are entirely valid, but that we don’t give a flying fuck about.

In establishing a reference framework for her evaluation, Jefferson asserts that “The Rude Pundit is the child of Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor and Hunter S. Thompson”, followed by a brief description of these luminaries’ contributions to comedy and journalism. Good company, and we admit that certain parallels might be interesting to develop. But this sets the bar the Pundit might some day hurdle far off in the horizon, ignoring in the process what he has to offer in his initial foray, at a point early in their own careers when Bruce, Pryor and Thompson were not yet so addled by smack, cocaine, acid and whatnot.

Why we are not writing for the New York Times is beyond us, but whatever, at least now we can return to our interrupted dump.

Bases Loaded, No Outs

Few people in the world have access to as much information as the President of the United States. It may not be at his fingertips, and in GW's case, we know precious little is committed to long-term memory, but he has access. Ready access. And although White House staffers are understandably hesitant to volunteer news that could make the boss gag on his zwieback, they are duty bound to comply with a direct request, even happy to read the material aloud, presumably turning the pictures toward the president as needed, so he can follow along.

Stewardship for such a wealth of information is an awesome responsibility, but the arrangement is essential as a basis for fully informed, rational policy development. And in mundane, practical terms, wouldn't life be a dream if there was always someone at hand to provide an authoritative response to any gaps in critical knowledge that happened to cross your mind, a brief historical background on the mullet, for example, or what's the best site for hot Amish chat?

Given such unfettered access to information, surely one of the very first things a President TruthTeller (yes, I know, the thought scares us as well) would ask is, "so what's the deal here? Are we establishing long-term military basing in Iraq or what?". Its a simple one. Yes or no would be a good place to begin an answer. Sure it might be important to follow up with some qualifiers, caveats and contingencies, specification of what we mean by "long-term", and how progress in rebuilding Iraq military capabilities would condition the outcome. But the underlying question is a simple one, requiring nothing more than a yes or no to get the ball rolling on an answer.

In fact we find it hard to believe that the president – yes, even this president – hasn’t asked the question. And gotten a response. And authorized a decision, one way or the other. So what’s the answer? A number of strategists have suggested that providing a clear, unequivocal indication that we have no intention of establishing a permanent military presence in Iraq would go a long way toward knocking the wind out of the insurgency’s sails, since after all, it was the whole ‘infidels in the holy land’, or some such shit, that got Bin Laden’s knickers in a bunch in the first place. Indeed you could be forgiven for thinking the question has not only been posed, but answered. After all, as long ago as April, 2003, Defense Secretary Rumsfeld said,

I have never, that I can recall, heard the subject of a permanent base in Iraq discussed in any meeting," Rumsfeld said at a Pentagon news conference. "The likelihood of it seems to me to be so low that it does not surprise me that it's never been discussed in my presence -- to my knowledge.

Now that’s fairly straightforward, yes? Except the situation is ‘fluid’, and as the reality on the ground changes, we need to remain flexible. In one signal of just how flexible, planning circa 2004 was a bit different according to the Chicago Tribune:

Now U.S. engineers are focusing on constructing 14 "enduring bases," long-term encampments for the thousands of American troops expected to serve in Iraq for at least two years. The bases also would be key outposts for Bush administration policy advisers.

And as recently as April of this year, the outlook remains sufficiently unclear that the question has been posed, perhaps rhetorically, “If the U.S. government doesn't plan to occupy Iraq for any longer than necessary, why is it spending billions of dollars to build "enduring" bases?”.

Why the subterfuge? The intentional lack of clarity about our intentions? Why fuel suspicions the insurgency can use to claim our designs for the region involve land, Israel and oil? In short, why not lie? Its not like the administration has a ‘thing’ about telling the truth. And this one would be super easy to get out from under; we just say, “absolutely not, no way, under no circumstances are we’re going to establish permanent military bases in Iraq”. Bada-bing-bada-boom, problem solved! And then in 10 or 15 years, when somebody notices we still have thousands of troops in perfectly serviceable facilities, thanks to the fine work of the folks at Kellogg, Brown & Root, we admit that we’ve stuck around longer than we planned, but its not permanent, we’ll be gone before you know it.

In fact, when you think about it, doesn’t the reality that the administration won’t provide a straight answer to the question pretty much mean for sure we’re planning to stay? Or maybe, just maybe, Bush really hasn’t thought to ask.

Introducing the Right Honorable Senator Skankbag of Florida

We here at Hard Truth are unyielding in our civility, consistently shunning the sort of personal attacks that have so debased the level of political discourse in this country. That said, any of you who had the misfortune to see Rep. Katherine Harris announce her senate run, in the great state of Florida, on (big surprise) Hannity and Colmes last night will know that we speak nothing but the objective, undeniable truth when we say this woman is a full-blown, bat-fuck crazy skank. With ample breasts. Normally we wouldn’t mention the latter point, but Ms. Harris went to some lengths to ensure the viewing public was aware of this important fact. Facing the camera head on, and leering with the come hither look of a bleary-eyed crack whore, she quite purposefully twisted her body from the neck down to reveal herself in glorious profile, subtly thrusting her breasts forward now and then like a cheerleader after one too many Tequila shooters, blathering truly meaningless platitudes to an admiring (and we suspect tumescent) Sean Hannity. The overall effect achieved might have been titillating, but only if you were totally hammered or have a thing for desiccated Florida reptiles. It should be an interesting race.

...and the living is easy

Short of actually sitting down for a long chit-chat with the president, we can imagine few fates worse than camping out on a barren dusty road in the heat of a Texas August waiting for an audience with Mr. Bush. And so we are captured by Cindy Sheehan's decision to do just that, the otherwise average mother of Casey Sheehan, a soldier killed in Baghdad’s Sadr City in April of 2004. Most people are spared the depth of sorrow and loss that compels such behavior and we don't pretend to have any realistic understanding of her persistent grief, or the relief she imagines will result from personally presenting her case to the commander-in-chief. No, Truthteller's goal is far more modest and consists of support by way of a few simple tips for beating the heat and boredom of summer in Crawford. We hope it helps Cindy:

1. Drink plenty of water and wear light-colored cotton clothing (bright colors may be attractive, but they retain heat). Resist the temptation to kill the boredom by getting shit-faced every day. Alcohol is dehydrating and besides, stumbling around like Otis the town drunk isn't much of a way to honor your kid.

2. Eat light. If you're grilling, experiment with local woods for smoke flavoring. Be creative! Mesquite is indigenous and imparts a nice sweetness that goes particularly well with beef. Most people find it overpowering for fish however.

3. We’re not sure if you’re taking a paper while you’re ‘on the road’, but if you do, the Word Jumble is a fun way to pass the time.

4. We noticed the other day that convenience stores are selling hand-held, battery-operated fans that not only create a cooling breeze, but that also have a water reservoir and mister to spritz yourself occasionally. You might want to consider getting one of those.

5. We understand that armadillos are common in Texas. When you have a second, please take some pictures for us because, well, armadillos are intriguing. Thanks.

6. Finally, if and when you do meet with the president, and our name comes up, say hello for us. Tell him we’re sort of okay with the Roberts nomination. We’d consider being more confrontational, but he is the president after all, and besides, he doesn’t seem to listen to what we have to say in any case (which is something else you might want to think about, but whatever).

When we were small

As a youngster growing up in the suburbs of a large eastern city, it seemed as though you couldn't go more than a week or two without happening on a midget*. They were common, always startling to bump into, but certainly not rare in number. There was even one in TruthTeller’s small public elementary school class, an unremarkable boy aside from his stature, who, saddled with one of life's inexhaustible wealth of dark jokes, was named Max. (Some years later we would befriend a slightly deranged fellow called Harry Legg - a troublesome name on its own, rendered geometrically worse by a childhood accident requiring the amputation of his left leg, just above the knee. Although his family was reasonably wealthy and had him fitted with a then cutting-edge prosthetic that enabled relative freedom of movement, it contained a spring-loaded mechanism at the joint that 'sproinged' when he walked, announcing to everyone within earshot that Harry Legg was on the march. The inevitable hectoring took its toll and Harry later spent most days at the public library, copying in careful longhand the text of detailed military memoirs from WWI, coming home only to sleep and have meals with his aging Mother.) But on the topic of midgets, they were plentiful.

And it occurred to us recently, out of the blue, as they say, that the prevalence of midgets has plummeted since we were a boy. We are unaware of advances in genetic testing or miraculous medical interventions that might account for the decline, but since we have not attempted to investigate the matter, we would not dismiss the possibility that remarkable strides have indeed been made, and that our ignorance does a disservice to the difficult, selfless toil of hundreds of investigators who have devoted their careers to midget-related research. Be that as it may, the fact remains, for better or worse, midgets are increasing hard to come by.

So imagine our surprise and delight to come across one of the rare ones in our own backyard - or what would be our backyard if we decided to move into the tunnels of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority subway system. And what's more, we are not talking about your vanilla flavored, run of the mill, dime-a-dozen midgets here (as though midgets were ever a dime-a-dozen, even in the best of times). No, in this case, we refer to a happenstance sighting of a black midget on a lower Westside subway station platform. Our attention was drawn, not by the midget himself, who after all was by definition small, but by the crowd of several dozen smiling onlookers, standing a polite distance from the Halloween-colored sign New Yorkers recognize as signifying that this is a City authorized, artistic form of panhandling, not a garden variety, self-employed panhandler.

Jostling close enough to view the object of everyone's attention, and given our recent musings on the subject, we were understandably thrilled to find a particularly small midget dressed in the style of Michael Jackson when he was still black, circa Thriller; black fedora, a single white glove, a finely fitted black suit with trousers shortened to reveal glittering white socks. The artist’s gig involved no singing, but instead, accompanied by a large boom box (although its actual size was difficult to judge with precision, due to the obvious scaling problem), he performed an impressive series of dance routines modeled closely on some of Michael’s most famous moves, the ones that helped rocketed him to stardom, and ultimately, terminal weirdness. And it turns out that you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen an appropriately clad black midget moon walking and pop-locking his heart out. Wow.

This, of course, is one of the many small things that makes New York the greatest city on earth.

____________________________

*We can never remember whether midget or dwarf or something else is the politically correct term, and we sincerely apologize to any wee ones who have been offended by the nomenclature we selected.

In his own words: Bush on current events

Much has been made of the amount of time the president devotes to vacationing, and while we find it unseemly that the leader of the free world is comfortable assuming the lifestyle of a cowboy king, short of actually working, we wish that he would at least spend his many weeks away from Washington quietly, peacefully, giving the rest of the world a friggin' break. Instead, yesterday President Bush delivered a wide-ranging speech to the American Legislative American Exchange Council in Grapevine, Texas, an organization we've never heard of and have no interest in researching. What we do find interesting, however, is Bush's remarkable insight, clarity of reasoning, and rigorous devotion to truth in public discourse. Certain comments regarding events in Iraq have received significant coverage in the news, but we feel others also deserve attention. Aside from a few gratuitous snarky asides, we let the president's words speak for themselves, as it were:

On the tragic bombing deaths of 14 marines earlier this week in western Iraq:

The violence in recent days in Iraq is a grim reminder of the enemies we face. These terrorists and insurgents will use brutal tactics because they're trying to shake the will of the United States of America. They want us to retreat. (emphasis added)

Gee, ya think? So like, they don't want us there?

And it turns out if you look at history, democracies are peaceful nations. The spread of democracy yields peace. What you're seeing on your TV screens today is the work of brave soldiers and diplomats and coalition partners, spreading democracy, defeating a hateful ideology with an ideology of hope, an ideology that has got a clear vision for a better tomorrow for all its citizens. We've seen this work before, and we have prevailed because we have been steadfast and true to our beliefs.

Is that what we're seeing in Iraq? And here I thought it was a bunch of people getting blown up and shit.

On the recent passage of Cheney's energy bill:

I believe that the best way to end our dependence on foreign sources of energy is to figure out how to use different kind of automobiles.

He's taking about hydrogen powered vehicles here. And maybe about learning to drive a stick shift.

On the record-breaking "highway" spending bill:

I'll be proud to sign a fiscally responsible highway bill next Wednesday in the state of Illinois.

That would be a bill with a price tag well over the limit he previously threatened to veto, and a bill widely criticized by conservatives for it's lack of fiscal restraint and obscene level of 'the other white meat', pork.

On eroding the principle of separation between church and state (for all Americans):

We understand that government -- government can't love. Government can pass law; government can hand out money; but government cannot put heart -- hope in a person's heart or a sense of purpose in a person's life. That's done when a loving citizen puts their arm around somebody who hurts and says, how can I help you? What can I do to make your life better? The true strength of America lies in the hearts and souls of our fellow citizens. That's our strength. Our strength can be found -- (applause.) Our strength can be found in the armies of compassion which exist all across America.

...the best way to bring hope into the dark corners of our country, the best way to bring optimism into people's lives is to stand squarely on -- side-by-side with faith-based organizations and community-based organizations whose members have heard that call to love a neighbor just like you'd like to love - be loved yourself.

We're saving lives in America because we're unleashing the great compassion of America, the people of America, and the people whose hearts are right.

Huh?

On John Roberts nomination to the Supreme Court:

I nominated him to the D.C. District Court, and he was approved by unanimous consent in the United States Senate. That means nobody objected. I spent time with John Roberts. He's a good family man. He has got a good way about him, a good modest fellow who is plenty bright.

Thank goodness he doesn't have a bad way about him like some of those other judges.

On framing the problems facing Social Security:

By the time the baby boomers like me get completely retired, there will be about 75 million. In other words, a lot -- there's a lot of us.

There now. Don't you feel better that Bush is always on the job, 24/7/365?

Bush to nation: "Blow me!"

Here at Hard Truth we keep a pretty close eye on the news, at least in a haphazard way, as long as it doesn't involve too much effort or complicated economic issues in countries where the names are indecipherable and hard to keep straight. So correct us if we missed something, but what the fuck happened in recent days that demands the immediate recess appointment of a US ambassador to the United Nations?

In principle one might suppose it has something to do with Iran, North Korea, one of those African nations where trouble of one sort and another is always a’brewin’, the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, or a desire to ease strained ties with the international community a large. But none of that seems quite right, does it? After all, this is the same organization that the administration told us not long ago had rendered itself irrelevant in world affairs, mostly by not having the gonads to support us in Iraq. And in a way, it’s the UN that got us into that mess in the first place because, after all, they kept telling Hussein, “dude, ya gotta do X, Y, and Z or some serious bad shit is gonna go down”. And we couldn’t very well just stand by with our thumb up our ass when he didn't do X, Y, and Z, right? So when you think it through, Cheney and the gang were right that the UN is nothing but a bunch of worthless fucks with diplomatic tags on their limos, nasty dental work, and a questionable sense of fashion and personal hygiene.

Not current events. Not the importance of the work the UN does. What could it be then that makes a recess appointment so critical, so very very necessary? Well newsflash, its because its the best possible way for Bush to show that he really does have a big boy wee-wee, and that his Mommy's not the boss of him anymore, and basically, to say to everybody, "suck my dick". And it just couldn’t be more perfect because the president has a buddy over for a playdate who pretty much wants to say the same thing. John Bolton has diplomatically expressed the perspective that lopping off a third of the UN building wouldn't have much influence on it's effectiveness, that one useful managerial style is to angrily stalk insubordinate employees and throw miscellaneous objects at them, and to generally exhibit nothing but seething contempt for the charter, composition and current status of the international body where he will represent our country. Yes, by accepting a recess appointment, John Bolton is standing tall and proud, shoulder to shoulder with the president, proclaiming loud and clear, " when you're finished with Mr. Bush, by all means, suck my dick as well. And don't bother to wipe your chin when you're done, because I hear Cheney might stop by."

Is there any other context for understanding the Bolton appointment? What is the true character of a man that aspires to one of the most visible diplomatic positions on the planet who would accept it as a recess appointment, by fiat, after one of the most contentious senate debates in the history of such deliberations, where the nominee welcomes the administration’s cover for concealing directly relevant background information, and where the nominee has demonstrated a remarkable gift for divisiveness, acrimony and evasion?

Yet one more event in a long series with the common theme that this is an administration of truly stunning arrogance and an unbending commitment to an ideology that the vast majority of Americans would denounce without hesitation if it were presented truthfully, openly, in its full glory. Our strong prediction is that, as the truth becomes clear, and more and more people wake up to the reality of what is happening to this country under our current leadership, we will hear a resounding rumble, low at first but steady, insistent and unstoppable, until the country rings with the judgment of the people, speaking with one glorious voice proclaiming, “blow me”.